


Not-So-Bad Omens

by the_nerd_youre_looking_for



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Author Said Gay Rights, Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Established Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Gen, Good Omens Reverse AU, M/M, basically this is just oo crowley angel zira demon type situation, not original, same plot basically, the only thing original is that i made the characters i GUESS, this is wholly unoriginal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2020-10-10 07:36:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 50,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20524337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_nerd_youre_looking_for/pseuds/the_nerd_youre_looking_for
Summary: Antoni J. Raphael and Azaera Fell are what one would call an "odd couple"Raphael tries to stay with the times on style and trends, where Azaera wears anything that fit.Azaera lives in his library-on-wheels, while Raphael owns a respectable plant nursery (of course, no one ever actually buys his plants, how could you think that?) and lives there.They are also and angel and a demon. One would think that alone would be enough to stop any friendship forming, but you would be wrong. Friendship formed alright, and something entirely else.Then, one day, the Antichrist is born. Earth has eleven more years left. Something has to be done.Antoni and Azaera have no fucking clue what that might be, but they're open to suggestions.





	1. in the beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This au hasn't been beaten into the dust enough so I figured I'd beat it more

In the very Beginning, there wasn't a lot of anything. There was empty void, some dark matter, a few spare planets and galaxies and stars hanging about, a handful of angels making aforementioned planets and galaxies and stars and void, and the Presence of God. No one had actually seen Her, but She was there nonetheless, speaking to them and filling them with holy love.

If you fast-forward time a bit, you get to a rather bloody time in early history. The Great War, not to be confused with what will later be called World War 1. This was a war between angels who stayed true to God their Mother and angels who rebelled against Her. The rebelling angels were struck down and Fell from Her grace and love. Those angels landed in what would be called Hell and became demons. Not so long after this debacle went down, God created a couple new things. One was man, and She called him Adam and put him in a beautiful garden, which She named Eden. Adam was given the task of naming all the animals and such he came across, since She figured She could use a break and this would give him something to do. Then, he became lonely, and wished for someone like him to be with. So, God created woman and called her Eve. They got on like a duck to water and went about frolicking in the sunlight and naming all sorts of animals. Their days were to be filled with ignorance and joy, so long as they never ate the fruit of a certain tree. Mostly, they followed that rule because why should they doubt their Mother?

Apparently, today, they found reason to. Atop the eastern gate to Eden, an angel sat and watched them walk into the desert. He really did feel horrible about the whole thing. He felt he should've stopped them or got to the demon in time and smitted (smote?) them before anything evil could happen. The angel worried his lip and twisted a lock of his fiery red hair around his hand. This angel's name was Raphael (not like the painter, he came later. And not like the Archangel Raphael, they just have the same name. It gets really confusing sometimes) and he was supposed to be guarding this side of the garden. All he wanted to do was take a quick walk around the garden to make sure all the plants were looking their best and a demon gets in. Wonderful. 

He almost didn't notice when a little leopard gecko climbed up the wall to settle next to him, and when he saw the animal he wasn't really surprised. Little was probably the wrong word, since it was definitely much bigger than the other ones he'd seen around. He was only slightly more surprised when the gecko metamorphed into a demon, the shock-white mop of hair contrasting heavily against the black robes he wore. Raphael was supposed to banish demons in the garden or something, smite them where the stood (or sat, in this case) but he didn't. Later, he might blame it on the shock or the tiring day or whatever.

"That went swimmingly, don't you think?"

Raphael jumped and glanced over at the demon. Conversation it was. "Sorry, uh...what'd you say?"

The demon smiled and looked back out at the fleeing forms of Adam and Eve. "I was just saying it went well, didn't it."

"Yes, for some of us, maybe." 

"Oh, they just sent me up, said 'right, go up there, mess around a bit, don't come back till someone's crying'. Bit harsh, but what's one to do about that."

"'Course it's harsh. It's Hell." Raphael inched away from the demon, trying to remain wary and suspicious. It was tough, given how much different he seemed to be from the other demons.

"It is, isn't it." The demon smiled and turned back to Raphael. "Never caught the name."

"Raphael. Not the Archangel, I get that a lot. And you?" 

"Haven't thought up one yet. I'll get around to it." The demon shrugged and turned back to the desert. His smile dropped away into something more solemn, a bit more thoughtful. "Being sent out there because of a first offence. Seems a bit of an overreaction." 

The demon was clearly expecting a response, but Raphael would not humor him. He'd started off the day by tempting humanity into sin, and now he was just trying to get an angel to doubt the Lord. It'd probably just be a gold star for him if he managed to do it, they'd get all excited. Well, Raphael wouldn't dignify stupid questions with a response.

"I mean, what's so _bad_ about knowing the difference between good and evil?" The demon was starting up again. "_I _know the difference and so do _you _and we aren't getting evicted."

Raphael sighed and kicked his legs out gently. "If it's not bad, then why'd you do it?"

"Well, clearly She didn't want it done. Stick a tree out in the middle of Eden and say 'now don't touch'. Would've happened eventually, I just...you know, sped it up."

"How do you know it would've happened?" Raphael turned suddenly to face the demon. "Great Plan and all, it's ineffable. So you don't know."

The demon rolled his eyes and tucked his wings in close to him. "Oh, it's ineffable now is it?"

"Yes, it is, and that's that. It's beyond our understanding and is incapable of being put into words. So, you see, Adam and Eve might've lived out a nice happy life here if you hadn't intervened and mucked it up."

Raphael was feeling quite proud of his little speech until he noticed the demon hadn't been paying attention at all. 

"I thought you had a flaming sword."

Raphael froze, a nervous chill making its way down every nerve he had. "Eh.." 

"You did!" The demon brightened, positively _beaming_, the smug bastard. "You did! Flaming like the sun! What'd you do with it?"

"Uh..."

"Lost it, hm? That's alright, big sword on fire, you'll find it event-"

"Igaveitaway!" Raphael shouted, eyes fixated on the skyline. 

"You _what?_" The demon covered his mouth with his hands, but his eyes were filled to the brim with mirth. 

"I gave it away! Listen, she's got a baby on the way and the baby didn't do anything to God yet, right? So, you know, I just go up and say 'here you go, this can keep you warm at night and also stab things, good luck'" Raphael squirmed under the demon's joyful gaze, feeling guilt weigh him down. "I hope I didn't do the wrong thing."

The demon removed his hands to reveal a barely suppressed smile. For a demon, he smiled quite a bit. "Oh, you're an _angel._ Pure good and all." 

"Well, thank you." Raphael said, completely meaning it. Eight words from a demon and he's feeling right as rain. What an odd day. "I've been worried about that. You know how the Almighty gets."

The demon nodded and flicked out a long tongue to lick his eyes. Raphael nearly gagged at it, before remembering that the other geckos did it. Still weird.

"I've been worried too. I mean, giving them knowledge could've been the _right_ thing." The demon shook his head and placed his chin on his hands. "The trouble I'd be in if I did something right..."

Silence fell over the pair. They watched Adam and Eve, and a lion. Lions aren't generally known for living in deserts, at least they won't be. For now, there is one. Eve stayed behind Adam, protecting not just herself but the unborn child she is creating inside her. If she dies, so does the baby. And Adam fights three times as fiercely as he might have. His life is on the line, and Eve's, and the baby. He is fighting for everything. 

Raphael looks away as Adam deals the killing blow. The demon watches on, wrinkling his nose as if it was just a mildly distasteful television program. 

"Wouldn't it be funny if we had it mixed up?" The demon asked. "I mean, what if I did the right thing and you'd done the wrong thing?"

Raphael smiled and was tempted to laugh along with the demon, but he caught himself just in time. "No! It would not!"

There had been large rain clouds gathering over Eden. Later, humanity would classify them as cumulonimbus clouds, and generally figure out their whole deal. Adam and Eve had no idea what they were or what even to call them. But they could taste the change in the air. Eve skinned the lion to create new clothes, and Adam built a fire to cook its meat. A thunderclap sounded and the rainstorm broke. Hopes of a campfire were dashed as the wood got soaked, but the fire on the sword wouldn't go out. Eve laughed and Adam ran to find something to collect the rain in. They knew now that they needed this water to survive, and they also knew there wasn't much in the desert. They praised God for the small mercy She had on them.

Miles away, an angel sheltered a demon on top of the gates of Eden. It was a silent truce between sides, where neither acknowledged that such sides existed and pretended God didn't notice. But She did, as She always does. These two being each got a small blessing, it being bestowed when the first lighting struck. The angel flinched at the sudden flash, and the demon comforted him. The blessing would be each other, and it would be almost too long until they appreciated it.


	2. eleven years ago

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you would like to know why I made Azaera a leopard gecko it is simply because geckos are cute and I like them. Must I put thought into things?

This part of the story starts eleven years ago, in a church graveyard. It was a dark night, but lit up fairly well by the full moon. Not stormy either, it was actually rather muggy. However, the forces of evil are at work all times, all weather, and all lighting conditions. If someone had been in that particular church graveyard that night, they would have seen two rather ragged and very intimidating men rise up from the ground. Said person would dismiss it as a hallucination and run the opposite direction as fast as they could. There was nobody in the vicinity that night, which disappointed Hastur and Ligur. They really liked giving humans a good spook. They had a tally chart going of how many people they can make shit their pants. Ligur is winning so far. 

Hastur lit a cigarette with a flame he conjured up and looked angrily down the path to the graveyard. "Bugger this for a lark." He growled, shaking his flame out. "Bastard should've been here by now." 

"Do you trust him?" Ligur asked, hunching over in a more menacing manner. Silly question to ask, really. 'Trust' was a foreign concept down in Hell.

"'Course I don't."

"Good."

They waited a moment longer and then a dim light came around the bend of the path. A clunky bus, painted with purples and blues, was slowly making its way down. One of the headlights didn't light and the other was cracked. 

"There's the snail himself." Hastur rasped. The two demons watched as the doors hissed open only about halfway. They were pried open from the inside, and a demon popped himself out. 

If you saw Azaera, you wouldn't think demonic is an appropriate word to describe him. With his white hair, glasses, and chubby figure, one might think he's a bit of an eccentric old man. To an extent, yes, this is true. A certain angel would describe his sense of style as positively demonic, but Azaera could never find anything wrong with mixing and matching up clothes. Tonight, it's green crocs, polka-dotted knee socks, yellow shorts and a mint green dress shirt. So he's an eccentric old man who is also homeless. Also technically not incorrect. But appearances are often deceiving, and he is indeed a demon. 

"All hail Satan" Ligur greeted, and Hastur repeated it.

"Hello to you, too. Lovely night out, isn't it?" Azaera clasped his hands behind his back and smiled at the other two demons. "Sorry I'm late, just got stuck in a bit of traffic, and you know how the old clunker gets if it goes too fast, stalled out, the poor thing." He did not mention that the "old clunker's" idea of too fast is about ten miles an hour.

"Enough. We are all here, so let us recount the deeds of the day." Ligur held a hand up to silence Azaera and gestured at him, indicating he would go first.

Azaera rocked back on the balls of his feet and pushed his glasses back up his nose. "Yes yes, deeds. How about you boys go first, hm?" 

"Very well." Hastur rolled his eyes and took another drag off the cigarette. "I tempted a priest. As he walked down the street, he saw pretty girls in revealing clothing. I put doubt into his mine." Something like Pride glinted in his black eyes. "He would have been a saint. Now, in a year, we shall have him."

"Very impressive, well done." 

Ligur shot a glare at Azaera and continued on. "I corrupted a politician. I let him think that just one, little bribe wouldn't hurt. Now, in a decade, we shall have him." 

"Good job, right on." 

"What about you?" Hastur growled. "Tell us your deed."

"Yes, deed, let me think, uh, I've just...just done a lot of very evil deeds today, very busy I was." Azaera smiled and continued rocking. He thought he was doing a grand job of fooling the Dukes of Hell. He wasn't. "Well, let's see, just now, I brought down the mobile telephone network in the London area." 

Hastur and Ligur looked at each other, and then back at Azaera.

"How has this done anything to secure souls for our Master?" Ligur asked.

"Well, you know, people just love their mobile telephones nowadays, so now they can't use them!" Azaera's eyes lit up and he smiled, feeling a little Pride himself. "Now they'll all be very mad. I'll bet lots of them with take anger out on each other!"

"That isn't _enough_, Azaera." Hastur put out the cigarette on his dirty coat and glowered. He was very good at glowering. "All that does is spread a little bit of annoyance. It isn't evil."

"Well, if you do enough of little bits, it'll go up to a lot. That's simple mathematics." Azaera shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to look sure of himself. "You can't just do one at a time, it's got to be mathematical, see? Times change."

"They're going to end, for one." Ligur smirked and held up a wicker basket with a red-and-white checkered trim. It looked like it might hold a nice picnic for a summer afternoon, or someone's school lunch. Azaera paled and took an unconscious step back.

"Oh, it isn't..."

"It is." Hastur stepped forward and tried for a smirk. Ligur was better at it. 

"So soon?" Azaera slid his glasses up again with a shacking hand. "Why, it can't have been more than just a few thousand years already. Time flies."

"Time goes on as usual." Hastur said. "Then it ends. Now is where it stops."

"Figure of speech, lad. But, eh...I'm the one to...bring it round?"

Ligur leaned forward, basket still extended. "Yes. You aren't going to pass up this opportunity, are you?"

"I'd give a right arm to be you. Not mine, but someone's." Hastur shrugged.

"Oh, well, lots of responsibility, isn't it? I mean, awfully fragile for one thing and-"

"You've been responsible, haven't you?" Ligur gave up waiting and pushed the basket into Azaera's arms. "I mean, lots of evil deeds, just today? How efficient."

Hastur held out a grimy piece of paper. "Sign on the dotted line." 

Azaera swallowed and pulled a pen out to write his name in barely legible handwriting. When he was finished, the paper burst into flame. 

"Now what?" He clutched the basket close to his chest.

"You will receive your instructions shortly." Ligur said gruffly. "Don't look so gloomy. This is what we've been working for for centuries, innit?"

"Our victory at last." Hastur added.

Azaera nodded and smiled nervously. "Yes, victory, can't wait. Lovely seeing you all, ta-ta now!" He backed up a few inches before turning and speed walking back to his bus. 

"What's a 'ta-ta'?"

"Heaven if I know, Ligur. Some mammal or something."

~*~

Knowing Armageddon is going to happen _eventually_ is one thing. Being the one to drop the Antichrist off and then have the world end in just a few short years is another. Without even meaning to, Azaera had gathered up some things he would miss once it was over. His broken down library-on-wheels (or as someone describes it, Hell-on-wheels), his collection of books, fine wines, good foods, curling up under a heat lamp, the ducks at St. James's, those quirky little occult shops, thrift stores...and that would all be gone soon. He dug his nails into the leather of the steering wheel as he stared through the windshield. He wasn't paying attention to the road much at all, or the classical music that made its way through the staticly radio.

"Why'd it have to be me of all demons, there's plenty of others, plenty a lot better than me, this is ridiculous, why'd I get the baby, and our thousandth anniversary was just coming up..."

"You've done plenty of evil things, Azaera." A smooth voice came through clearly past the static, making the demon in question jump. "The M25? What a stroke of evil genius, darling."

"Yes, that was, been stuck on it." 

"Here are your instructions." With that, Azaera fell into a sort of trance, head hanging down limply. He knew what to do. Go to St. Beryls Birthing Hospital. Drop the baby off there. The nuns will take care of the rest.

The bus gave a little lurch and a sigh and it stalled out again. Azaera shook himself out of the trance and sighed. He glanced down at the wicker basket, which was now partially open. Inside, a little baby giggled and chewed on its fist. Despite himself, Azaera felt himself softening. 

"Hello there, little Antichrist." He cooed. "Are you going to end the world one day? Oh, I hope not! What a sweet little darling you are! You couldn't harm a fly! Sweet little one. Stay right here, I've got to fix the bus! Tiny little pumpkin!"

~*~

At that moment, there were two women going into labor. One was Deidre Young, who was being carefully driven to the little local religious hospital down the road by her doting but exhausted husband, Arthur Young. They are from the little village of Tadfield. The nuns are expecting her, but next week. Her little baby is an early bird, she supposes. Arthur would agree with the amount of times she's been up at 3am looking for egg salad and tuna sandwiches. You just can't stop smelling it. They're a perfectly normal, loving couple, who plan on having a perfectly normal baby that they will also love very much. They wanted the gender of the little one to be a surprise, but from what they did gather, they'll be perfectly happy once they finally get on out of there. Deidre is fussing a bit, but pregnancy is hard work. She's allowed to fuss. 

The other is Harriet Dowling, wife of the absent American diplomat, Thaddeus Dowling. She is being rushed to a little local religious hospital a ways away from the air base she's staying at. One of the Secret Service men is holding a video recorder and a screen uncomfortably close to her face. The bright light and loud noises makes her want to throw up, she thinks she's having a panic attack, she's in labor for Christ's sake, and her husband is only there through a screen. She had wanted it to be something they would experience together. However, American diplomats often have to make sacrifices, and today's is being away during the worst day of her life. Great. She screams at her husband through the screen and calls him all sorts of obscenities in hopes that he'll understand. He doesn't. All she can hope is that he'll be more present for the raising of the child. Probably not. He sucks. 

The Antichrist is supposed to be delivered to one of them. He does end up with one of them.

~*~

Antoni had never cared for food much. It smelled nice and all, but there was all the chewing and digesting to be done, and then you've got to shit it out after, so it doesn't even stay there. Really, it's just impractical. A certain demon he knows loves food to an almost ridiculous extent, so he eats enough for them both. But if there's one human invention he adores, it's coffee. Standard coffee is good black or with some creams and sugars, but the ways that people have expanded on what's essentially bean water are really incredible. 

It might be eight at night, but he came to his favorite small coffee shop anyway. He didn't know if he wanted to sleep or not tonight (sleeping was another excellent thing people thought up) and he could always just get the caffeine out of his system if he didn't want it. Sometimes a guy's just gotta indulge in the urge to get a nice cappuccino. 

Antoni pulled his hair up into a ponytail while he waited for his coffee to be finished. He pointedly ignored some teenage girl whisper to her friend about him being a "vis-co girl", whatever that was, and leaned up against the counter. There was still plenty of traffic, and he watched the headlights pass the window. A few people were out and about, going wherever it was they had to be and getting on with their lives. To some, he was just a glimpse of a redhead in a coffee shop and not a thought more about him. To others, he didn't exist and never would. He was in the same position, to look upon their hurrying profiles, speaking on a phone or to another person, or alone, some with eyes on the ground and some hyper-alert of the other pedestrians in case of a collision and some taking in the sights, and he would most likely not recognize them should he ever see them again. The ability to just be a blip in someone's life. It was quite something he prided himself on.

He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn't notice that another reflection had suddenly joined his. He blinked once and whirled around to face the Archangel Gabriel.

"Funny seeing you here, Raphael!" Gabriel exclaimed, just too loudly, as if this were just a silly coincidence. 

"Yes, isn't it." Antoni said dryly with a plastered smile, cringing at the use of his "proper" name. "What's-oh, wait a moment." He turned to take his coffee from the barista, who he thanked and put a dollar in the tip jar.

Gabriel examined the cup quizzically and sniffed. "What is..._that_?" He pointed at it, filling his voice with contempt.

"Just coffee." Antoni explained and took a sip. He smiled for real at the sight of Gabriel's expression. He looked like he might vomit.

"Why are you...consuming it? You don't need to, you're an angel."

Antoni shrugged and sat down at one of the small tables by the window. "You know, keeping up appearances." He said vaguely. He knew very well that Gabriel did not know enough about humans to know what time coffee was typically had. "Anyway, it doesn't taste bad either. Especially the new types they've thought up."

Gabriel smiled and clasped his hands together. He stood next to Antoni and made no move to sit. "You won't have to worry about appearances much longer, from what I hear."

"Oh?" Antoni made the effort to sound interested. To be honest, he almost always just tuned out whatever Gabriel said. "What've you got?"

"From what I've got from the higher-ups, things are...afoot." Gabriel said. "Something concerning the demon Azaera, I believe?"

Antoni sighed and took a long sip of his coffee. What on Earth had that idiot gotten up to this time? "Oh him, yes. Ran into him a few times, tricky bugger."

"We need to to keep him under constant watch, more than usual, with everything that's happening. But, of course, he can't _know_ you're watching him, got that?"

"Yes, got it. I've been doing that since the Beginning you know, I've gotten awfully good at it."

Gabriel frowned in a way that let you know he was disappointed. "You said you'd run into him a few times."

"Yes, of course, inevitable really, but he's always just thought I was some human. Nothing really important going on then, anyway." Antoni waved a hand dismissively, to indicate he wasn't just coming up with all this on the fly.

"Well, you just do your very best to keep up the good work. We wouldn't want a repeat of that last incident, would we?"

Antoni winced at the reminder. Gabriel may not be sharp on intellectual things, but he was a master at keeping his subordinates in line. Knew just what to say and do, so subtly you nearly don't even notice how he's got you trapped. "Course not. I'll get right on it." He didn't even look back up when he felt Gabriel disappear again. Cheeky piece of shit, wasn't he? How he'd gone 6,000 years and not stabbed him once was absolutely beyond his comprehension.

He sat a moment longer, running the conversation through his mind before picking up his cup and leaving. He'd parked his Beetle a block or so away so he had more time to think. Azaera wouldn't keep this new thing a secret for long, not if he asked. If it was so important that he wouldn't even have to bother blending in as human after it....leaves one wondering. Of course, Gabriel barely tried to, so maybe it was an exaggeration. You really can't tell with that one. He pulled his phone out of his small white handbag and went through his text messages. Customer, customer, reminder his data was almost up, Azaera. He clicked the call button and waited a while and groaned when he was informed that the phone lines were down. Wonder who that might be. Antoni slid into his yellow car, resolving to call his stupid demon on the landline once he got back home. He had a feeling it was going to be a _very _long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Antoni and Azaera are married in this au. Why? Because I say so. Suck it, Neil.
> 
> Also Antoni is a vsco girl because he wears scrunchies and has at least 1 hydroflask. Bully him as much as you like


	3. eleven years ago continued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posts 1 chapter of one of my serious fics and goes back to the dumb ones because this is the only one I really have any motivation for rn
> 
> Bro I cannot believe I am still on episode 1,,,,,,,,,,,,,why do things need to happen yall

Admittedly, Azaera was rather late to the birth. It really can't be his fault, his old bus can only go so fast before giving out. He filed the fact that maybe he should let Antoni take a look at it when he returned and hurried out, kicking the folding door open in his haste. He lifted the lid of the basket and cooed some cutesy nonsense at the Antichrist one last time before taking it out of the car and covering up. Time to give the boy a family. Hopefully the American ambassador and spouse would be good to the little one up until he blew up the entire world. Just because a child is the literal son of Satan and prophesied king of the ruined world doesn't mean they deserve a bad, uncaring home, Azaera will stand by it. If asked by Hell, he'd call it "coddling potential evil". 

There was a man outside smoking a pipe. He appeared to be a rather ordinary man by Azaera's standards, and definitely human. No demon would make such a great effort to look like a regular middle-aged man for something as simple as being posted outside to....guard the place, or something. The man, who was Arthur Young and had been blessedly forbidden to be with his wife in labor (nothing against it, he just couldn't stand the sight of blood), looked up when he heard Azaera's footsteps and furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Do you know someone here?" He asked, thinking he might be a father to one of the nuns. 

"Uh, yes. Listen, has it started yet? I'm afraid I'm rather late." Azaera smiled and ignored his sweaty palms.

Arthur nodded and waved his pipe at the building. "Yes, last I heard, they were, eh...getting on with it. They wouldn't let me stay for it."

Oh, he _was_ fairly late. He'd meant to get here before the birthing happened so the switch could go on without much hassle. But at least this man was with the ambassador, so it'd just be some information out of him. "Sorry to trouble you with so many questions, but which room's she in? Supposed to drop something off." He raised the basket slightly. 

Arthur nodded and smiled. He assumed Azaera was dropping off a dinner or some sort of present for whichever nun was his daughter. Maybe it was her birthday. "Room Three, though I don't know if they'll let you in! Frankly, I don't think they're fond of men."

Azaera laughed and nodded. "Oh, they're fond of me, don't worry. Thank you kindly, young man, here's to the child's health." He patted Arthur on the shoulder as if they were old friends and strode in as if he were a nun too and belonged. 

Arthur waved at his retreating back and called to him. "Tell her a happy birthday from me, won't you?" When he got no response, he got back to smoking his pipe and looking out at the starry sky. "He seemed pleasant."

~*~

Deirdre Young had just given birth to a beautiful little boy in Room Three. He was rather pudgy and had blue eyes, even though all babies start out with them blue. They seemed like the type of blue to stick around as he grew. She'd wanted to pass out immediately after the child had gotten all the way out, but when she saw the nuns washing him while he screamed at the top of his tiny lungs, she'd wanted to hold him with the sort of powerful urge a parent gets when they've dreamed of children from the start. They swaddled him in a soft blue blanket, and put a tiny little knit hat on him and handed him over. One of the nuns asked if she had any idea what the name would be, and she responded that she wanted to wait until Arthur was in the room. Then, she fell asleep. 

Harriet Dowling had also given birth to a beautiful little boy in Room Four. He was also pudgy with blue eyes, but his seemed like they might become brown once he got older. It had been a rather draining experience, with the nuns fussing about around her, the Secret Service men all around and watching, and her husband grimacing on the screen shoved in her face. All in all, she was just glad it was over. She hadn't wanted children, really, she'd wanted to wait until her career was more stable, but Tad had had her quit and now she was just the ambassador's wife. Nothing stopping her from childbearing. But once she laid her eyes on him, she was filled with a warm, soft emotion commonly known as affection. He looked so small and vulnerable, all wrapped up in a yellow blanket and sporting a white hat much too big for him. Tad rejoiced at the fact that he was a father to a son, and spouted about fifty synonyms for "boy" before Harriet told him to shut the hell up. She was getting enough from the baby crying. At first, he hadn't made any noise which was a source of immense panic for her and the nuns, until he started screaming in Mother Superior's face. Harriet got a good laugh out of that. All she wanted to do was sleep and hold her baby, but not with all the people in the room. She could never get any privacy.

~*~

Azaera waved down the first nun he saw out in the halls. That nun was Sister Mary Loquacious. She'd just got those nice biscuits from the kitchen and was hoping to ask someone which room the ambassador's wife was in so she could deliver them. She immediately noticed Azaera (he's hard to miss) and hurried over to him. Wasn't she just going to get the biggest job of the night! That'd show Mother Superior she was perfectly capable of doing things properly.

"Is that him?" She asked, taking the basket from Azaera. She opened up the lid to reveal the little baby Antichrist was just waking from a brief nap. 

"That's the one alright." Azaera muttered, peeking in over her shoulder.

Sister Mary smiled and poked the baby's nose, prompting him to sneeze. "Awww, what a sweet wittle one." She giggled. "I always thought he'd have scary eyes, or little hoofikins. Or a teeney tail!"

Azaera chuckled from behind her and shook his head. "No, none of that. Looks just like a human baby."

"Oh, he's such a cutie! My, fancy me counting the Antichrist's little toesie-woesies!" 

"I know, isn't he such a darling? Can't hardly believe he's going to end the world, he's such a little thing!" Azaera reached into the basket to have a go at poking the baby's nose, which made him sneeze again.

The two stood like that for a moment longer, gushing over the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Prince of this World and Lord of Darkness before Azaera realized that he had a job to do. 

"Right. Up to Room Three with the poppet." He said, smiling at Sister Mary. He smiled quite a bit for a demon, which everyone down in Hell found incredibly unsettling. "Good luck with everything, you'll do just fine."

Sister Mary nodded and shut the basket. "Right on it, Mr. Azaera" (he had objected years ago to the title of Master). She spun on her heel and went down to find a blanket for the little one, sporting a proud smile. Look at her, swapping out the Antichrist without even being told. She really was competent, and she would show them all, wouldn't she? 

~*~

And so the third baby joined the mix. As instructed, Sister Mary brought the Antichrist (and the biscuits) to Room Three. The father turned up to check on his baby, and Sister Theresa came in a bit later to whisk away the human baby. Sister Mary was having a wonderful time having tea and chatting with the American ambassador, even though he didn't really look at all like you'd think an ambassador should look. The baby boy ended up being named Adam, at Sister Mary's suggestion, and even though the ambassador and his wife looked awfully confused at her comments, the three of them had a lovely old time before the wife wanted a lie down in private and she was off. You'd think there would be more Service agents around such important people. 

The baby that was the Young's became the Dowling's as Sister Theresa handed him off to Mother Superior, who handed him off to Harriet. Thaddeus had cut the call to attend to his meeting, and Harriet wanted a bit of petty revenge. There was a long-standing tradition in the Dowling family to name the firstborn son Thaddeus. It was an old name, Greek in origin, that meant "courageous heart". Harriet took one look at her little son and decided then and there that he wasn't a Thaddeus. The name Warlock was an odd one, but Mother Superior assured her it was a good, lucky name for her son, and that was what she decided on. What she wasn't told was that Warlock, while being Old English, meant "deceiver" or "oath-breaker".

The baby that was the Dowling's got carted away by Sister Theresa. What happens to him is up to you. Surely, these nuns wouldn't be so cold-hearted as to kill a baby, would they? Even though they were Satanists, and had no other use for this child, they wouldn't be so cruel, right? Maybe they put the baby up for adoption on the down-low. Maybe he was raised by a couple who couldn't have children and were very excited to be mothers. Maybe he grew up having a nice and ordinary childhood, and grew even more to have a nice and ordinary adulthood. Let's go with that. That sounds rather nice, actually.

~*~

"Antoni, we need to talk."

"I've called five times, honey, where've you been? I hear you're up to something."

"Gabriel came by?"

"He did. Was a right ass about it too. So what's so big they've got you on it?"

"Well...Armageddon."

~*~

There are plenty of nice places for secret meetings. One is the comfort of one's one home, as you're less likely to be interrupted or overheard there, and you can cook up some snacks to keep everyone happy. The downside is now people know where you live. The best places to share secrets, it is said, is in the open. They say if you're in a crowd, you blend in and seem less like people having a secret meeting and more like people having an outing. This tactic has worked well for Antoni and Azaera for the past few hundred years. Their go-to place was a certain bench in St. James's Park so they can feed the ducks. Without knowing why, each duck recognizes them. It's a generational lesson that these two will always be there and always have been, so ducks seek them out. It's really rather sweet, by both of their standards. 

"Alright, just to get this straight," Antoni readjusted himself on the bench, clearly breaking his promise of not being seen anywhere near Azaera if he did not change out of the blue flannel and day-glo orange shirt combination. "You brought the Antichrist to a local monastery-slash-maternity hospital."

"That's right!" Azaera nodded, wide sun hat flopping with the action. "Oh, he was such a little darling, I nearly was about to just kidnap him and raise him myself."

Antoni stared at him and sighed. "Well, missed your chance. Who's he gone with anyway?"

The demon shrugged and batted away Antoni's hand trying to take off his hat. "American diplomat. Can't recall the name."

"An _American_?" Antoni said in disbelief. "As if Armageddon is some...type of television show you want to sell in as many countries as you can."

"The Earth and all the kingdoms thereof." Azaera sighed, almost wistful, almost sad. He stared out at the water with a sort of vacant expression.

"We'll win, you know." Antoni said smugly.

"Really. You believe that?"

"'Course I do, good triumphs over evil, as is intended. It'll be lovely." Antoni nearly preened.

"Right, just...just wondering," Azaera covered up a laugh. "How many first-rate composers do you have Up There? Out of curiosity. Because I know we've got Mozart, Beethoven, all the Bachs, so I'm wondering who's left for you lot?"

"They've written their music already." Antoni grumbled. "Don't matter."

"Au contaire, mon amor." Azaera smirked, folding his arms. "It'll matter quite a lot to you when you can't listen to any of them. Just the heavenly choirs, singing 'holy holy holy' all day long. How boring will_ that_ get and how fast, hm?" 

"Az, we're not-" Antoni began before being shushed by Azaera. 

"How about...no more catnaps," Azaera began, ticking off with his fingers. "No more small coffee shops, no more coffee in general, no more plant shops..."

Antoni was not going to give in to this. There was too much at stake if he got Heaven pissed at him again. He pushed the thought of having to fight Azaera in battle to the old, dusty closet in the back of his mind and swiftly locked it. He stood up without a word and strode out towards where he'd parked, scattering the last of the oats on the path for the ducks to eat. After a moment, he felt Azaera back at his side, walking wordlessly with him. Antoni fiddled with the ring on his right hand. He never did like arguing with Azaera, it left him with a bad taste in his mouth that the most interesting being he'd met in all his years might get fed up with him and leave. He knew Azaera would keep pushing the matter, and he'd agree to some stupid, half-baked idea. Because how could he not? 

"Listen...we've only got eleven years left." Azaera did indeed push the matter farther, but he had the decency to wait until they were walking out. "Then it's all over. We have to work together for this."

"No."

"Dearest, this isn't as if you need to cover up a little temptation for me because you're going up to Moscow anyhow. This is the end of the world, it's not something you can say no to."

"Try me. No."

"Look, I have an idea!" Azaera shoved his hands in the pockets of his green plaid pants and stopped. "We can _do_ something."

Antoni huffed and balled his fists by his side. "I'm not interested, sorry." He snapped. "Listen, I'd like to keep the Earth turning as much as you, but I really can't get in trouble with Upstairs again." 

Azaera's expression softened and he sighed. "Look," he said quietly, "would you like to go somewhere for lunch? Anyway, you owe me from...when was that?" He knew when it was. He knew Antoni knew he knew. It really had been a good day, if you discount everything that'd come before the lunch.

"Paris." Antoni grumbled, almost reluctantly. "Reign of Terror. You got us crepes."

Azaera smiled brightly, remembering the day. "Yes, that was a lovely time we had. Was that your lot or mine?"

Antoni shrugged, inspecting the boot they'd put on his Beetle. Damn cops and their hatred for people parking in convenient locations. A snap of his fingers made it fall off, startling the poor traffic warden to pieces. "I dunno. Wine wasn't half bad either. Where shall I treat you to today?"

Azaera climbed into the passenger seat and thought a moment. "What would you say to The Ritz? We've not been there in a long while."

"Yeah, last time was....'83, wasn't it? And you got outrageously drunk and we got kicked out?" 

The demon huffed as Antoni started the car. "It was good champagne and you drank twice as much as I did."

Antoni smiled and patted Azaera's hand in mock comfort. "That's because I'm smart and don't let myself get absolutely pissed in a public place in the middle of the day. You live on the edge, don't you, love?"

Azaera simply hummed in agreement and turned up the radio. The station was playing "Hey Jude", because after a while of being owned by a smartass of an angel, a car will develop a sense of humor. Every station played The Beatles. Every tape he put in played The Beatles. Antoni did not know why this was the only thing it would play, but it developed this little quirk shortly after the band gained popularity. Naturally, Antoni hated them, as he preferred a good old rock and roll band any day of the week. Azaera is well aware of this hatred, and thinks it's funny to see him grumble about it. He hated The Beatles too, but that was something ignored in these types of situations. 

~*~

That evening, Arthur and Deirdre Young happily drove their son home to the small village of Tadfield. It was very pleasant there, calm, very little crime, and a close-knit community. The couple truly believed it was the best place they could raise a child in, and were already planning a little get-together to introduce the little one to their friends.

The Antichrist had been on Earth for 24 hours.

~*~

Meanwhile, in London's SoHo (a place the Youngs would not raise a child), an angel and a demon had been getting drunk for the last six of them. It was a cozy scene, in the basement of Antoni's greenhouse. The floor was covered with a soft white carpet, and various pieces of plush furniture were placed about the small living room. A kitchen-slash-dining room was through a doorway across from the entryway, and his bedroom was through a door on the left. It was cramped and filled to the seams with little souvenirs he'd collected from various times and places, but it was warm and cozy and he wouldn't have it any other way. 

"See, my point is," Azaera slurred, trying his best to braid Antoni's hair. Antoni, for his part, was half asleep leaned up against the demon's chest. 

"My point.....uh, I had one, whatsit..oh! Dolphins! Yes, eh..smart...smart, damned big brains on them dolphins. And tha's not'a mention them whales!" He was getting very excited now, gesturing sloppily. "Gigantical brains. Huge." 

"Kraken." Antoni muttered, unhappy to be being jostled about. "Tha'sa _big_ boy. Comes up when the sea boils over. Suppose he's alright with heat." 

"Tha's just it!" Azaera exclaimed, giving up entirely on the braid and just petting his hair. "Th'other sea animals, they're not alright with heat! All o'them, big bowl'a bouil...boo..boob...heh, boob. Fish soup, whatever. Anyway, they didn't do a thing. Don't deserve bein' boiled alive."

"Naw, that's a nasty way to go."

"And and all them monkeys, too, right, climbin' about, all 'aargh, sky's all red, those ol' lights in the sky comin' down, what the heaven was in these bananas?' and then die. They didn' do nothin' either."

"Poor monkeys. They make nests. Some do."

"No, tha's birds."

"No I read it somewhere. Monkeys."

"Whatever, then, you see, death of all livin' things and such, you get used to that, but then there's _eternity_. You could go climb every...every mountain over and over and over and over and over and over and over and-"

"Shh. I'm sleeping."

"You're not. You like Queen, right?" Azaera pointed at the radio, which was playing one of Antoni's many Queen CDs. "Yea, but not Up There they don't. You know what I bet they _love_?"

"Noooo."

"I just bet," Azaera continued gleefully, "that they just _adore _The Beatles!" He ignored Antoni dramatically slithering off the couch in favor of pestering him more. "Picture that, all day long, singing Imagine nonstop. Oh, yes, very happy songs those Beatles had. And that'll be _forever_."

"Imagine's about communism." Antoni mumbled, voice muffled by the carpet. "They'd not like it."

"Oh, you think they know enough about people to look into meanings of songs?" Azaera tutted. "No dear, you'll love them eventually."

Antoni sat back up against the couch and hugged his legs to his chest. He was way too drunk to comprehend forever. "No, darlin', you know I can't disss...not do what they've told me. Last time..." He shook his head and let out a puff of air. "Not good. 'M gonna sober up, need more brain room."

"Yes, I ought to as well."

The pair scrunched up their faces comically in what appeared to be either intense concentration, pain, or constipation. A loud slurping noise echoed on the concrete walls, and an assortment of various wine bottles piled on the coffee table filled up again. The expressions turned into what was easily recognized as mild distaste and Antoni turned to face Azaera.

"Why do we ever do this? I mean the sobering up, leaves a nasty bitter taste."

"You complain about hangovers too much, and when I'm hungover too I can't deal with it."

"Unrelated question. Why do we ever get drunk?"

"Because you can't stand me otherwise."

"Today, that is true."

~*~

Harriet Dowling was stuffed into the ambulance again with little baby Warlock and drove back to her official London residence, where she planned to raise her son. London was such a nice city. Now that she had gotten some rest, she was more miffed that she was to raise little Warlock practically alone while Tad ran off doing God knows what. Something needed to be done about that.

Mother Superior and Sister Theresa had seen them off, and were smiling and waving pleasantly from the doorway. Although it was a humid night, an icy chill ran up their spines and a scent like a decaying body hit them like bricks. They smiled, less pleasantly, and whirled around.

"Lord Hastur." Mother Superior bowed deeply. "Our mission is done. The baby has been set in place and the parents are none the wiser."

Hastur grunted and gave a nod of vague approval. "Well. No need for the convent any longer, is there?"

"I'm afraid-"

"Your order's dissolved." He said bluntly. Mother Superior paled and put her hands over her chest. She'd been at this for a long time now, and she felt right at home doing this with all the other nuns, who had become family over the years. Where else would one find work as a Satantic nun?

"Excuse me!" Sister Theresa stepped forward and pointed accusingly at Hastur. "You can't do this to us! We did everything you asked, we were promised a reward! Where is our reward?"

Hastur rolled his eyes and pulled out a cigarette. "Satan Below, do you ever shut up?"

"We are a Chattering Order!" Sister Theresa stated proudly. "We say what is on our minds, and right now what's on my mind is-"

The world would never hear what had been on her mind. Hastur simply waved a hand in her direction and caused her heart to stop beating, blood to cease flowing, and the air to escape from her lungs. She felt to the ground, cold and lifeless. Mother Superior felt tears well up in her eyes at the sight, and a multitude of rude words she'd rather like to have with Lord Hastur. She would have said them too, had he not spoken first.

"Would you like to tell them the order is dissolved?" He said with a smile. "Or would you rather they all perish in the fire?"

"What-" A great noise drowned her out as a bolt of lighting struck the wood roof of the building. Mother Superior glanced fearfully one last time at a cackling Hastur and ran to help the others get out. 

As it turns out, the reward was the only one had died. 

~*~

"Listen," Antoni said. Distantly, Killer Queen played from his radio. "Even if I wanted to help, I couldn't. For one, there's already marks against me. Two, I can't interfere with Her Divine Plan, you know that."

Azaera sat silently for a moment, hands that had been giving that braid a second try stilling. "What if...what if it was a diabolical plan?" He asked, almost in a whisper.

"What are you on about?"

"I think I've an idea." Azaera began the braiding again. "See, your job here on Earth is to thwart evil, right? I get up to some nasty wile, you go on up and thward it, don't you?"

"Technically, but generally I like humans to do it, and I've not been all too _good _at it as of late."

"Hush, I'm explaining. So your job is to thwart me, established. Now, the Antichrist, he's born, but! He's still just a little baby. He's not evil yet, it's the influences he gets that turn him evil." Azaera finished up the braid and slid to sit down next to Antoni. "I'm doing the evil influences. But, let's say...there happened to be some heavenly being around to give him good influences." He pointed at Antoni, who looked entirely confused. "It'd be neutral, so the boy would turn out just....a boy. It's mathematics. A negative number plus-"

Antoni covered Azaera's mouth with his hand. "I get it without the math." He thought for a moment before nodding slowly. "Yes, if I'm doing it to thwart you...Heaven can't get a bad word in with it."

Azaera pulled Antoni's arm away and smiled brightly. "Exactly! In fact, I bet they'd be proud."

Antoni continued nodding, staring at the carpet as a smile slowly grew on his face. "And he'd turn out normal. Like maths."

"Just like maths! We could be sort of godfathers. Overseeing his upbringing." Azaera smiled. "You'll adore him, he's such a little sweetie!" 

Antoni burst out laughing and flung an arm around Azaera's shoulders. "I'm in."

~*~

The day after Mrs. Dowling put out a notice in the paper saying she was hiring housestaff, a very old couple turned up. 

Mrs. Ashorteth came in the early morning about the nanny position. She certainly looked the part, from her old-fashioned white floral-patterned dress, to the pair of circular glasses she kept on a chain, to her red hair pulled up in a tight bun. She seemed cheerful and pleasant, and cooed over baby Warlock the instant she saw him and soothed his crying. Her smile seemed slightly strained when she informed the family that her "good friend" would be dropping by for the position of gardener (Antoni had wanted that part, but Azaera had called dibs in a deliberate attempt to annoy him), but otherwise she seemed like a perfect fit. Mrs. Ashorteth was hired on the spot and she seemed delighted. Harriet loved her already. Tad wasn't so sure, and used a few rather derogatory terms towards her, but Harriet assured him that everything would be fine, and that Mrs. Ashorteth clearly loved Warlock already. What could go wrong?

Later on that afternoon, the new nanny's friend did indeed show up, applying for the gardener position. Brother Francis (Azaera had conceded to letting Antoni pick the name) had seemed rather suspect at first. His dental hygiene left much to be desired and his clothes looked at if he'd just picked them out of Goodwill on the way here. However, he seemed to know his way around plants and assured them that there wouldn't be a pest in this yard if he had anything to do with it. He was let know about Warlock, and he said when the boy got older he might teach him a few things about lawncare. No harm in learning, he'd said, and Tad had to agree with him. So, despite Harriet's suspicions, the man was hired as well.

That night, Antoni and Azaera had a celebratory dinner at a nice sushi place. Their plan was sure to work. Math never lied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greasy Johnson has lesbian moms
> 
> Anyway catch me putting the softest gay shit in this fic bcus I have to repair the damage Neil did and also set up for future emotional scenes


	4. getting up to speed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I swear I have better fics this is just the one I've got any motivation for djndnd
> 
> Antoni legally can swear

Warlock giggled quietly to himself as he crept through the halls of his large home. He knew that Nanny would be in the kitchen to fix up a snack for them, that's where she'd always been in the evenings. He wanted to scare her a little, Brother Francis said scaring people now would be good practice for when he was going to strike terror into the hearts of mankind when he got older. He didn't really understand that, but he was pretty smart. Some of the other staff noticed him and asked where he was off to, but he put his finger to his lips and smiled up at them. They all left him alone, mostly. 

He peeked through the doorway to make sure Nanny wasn't going to see him. She had her back turned and was humming something to herself as she sliced up an apple. Warlock pulled one arm through his sleeve to hide it under his shirt and only struggled a little. He laughed a little more and ran in the kitchen.

"Nanny, Nanny!! Look at my arm!" He exclaimed, trying his best to sound distressed and in pain. She whirled around and put her hands on her hips with a smile.

"Where did you leave your other arm?" She crouched down to his level and shook her head. "Did you put it somewhere and forget?"

Warlock shook his head and bounced on the balls of his feet, which made his shirtsleeve flap around. "It got chopped off! You gotta fix it!"

Nanny tutted at him and placed a gentle kiss on his shoulder. If the boy believed that kissing his little cuts and scrapes would fix them up, who was she to disagree with it? 

The boy struggled a bit more with getting his arm back out of the sleeve, but he managed. "It grew back!" 

Nanny ruffled his hair and went back to her apple slicing. "So it did. Where did you get it in your head to slice a perfectly good arm off?"

"Brother Francis said." He pulled up a step-stool so he could watch Nanny. At five, a person has very little legs. "He says I gotta practice striking terror into the hearts of mankind." Even though the two were friends, Warlock noticed they disagreed a lot. With his friends, they agreed on most things and didn't on a few. For example, he thinks green is the best color and Dustin thinks green is gross. But Nanny and the gardener disagree on _everything._

Nanny put the knife into the sink and reached up to pull a jar of peanut butter out of the cabinet. "Don't listen to that old man." She said. "He's got no idea what he's talking about. You need to practice being kind and compassionate to others. And if everyone is scared of you, then no one will want to be your friend and you'll be awfully sad."

"Brother Francis says when I rule the world, I gotta make everyone be scared of me." Warlock said matter-of-factly. "Some guy says so. Mac-ee-vel-ee." 

"Well Mr. Machiavelli wasn't a very nice person." Nanny put a scoop of peanut butter on the plate of apple slices and headed out to the garden. "If you've got love in your heart and compassion in your soul, the world will be that much more beautiful." 

Warlock followed her and thought about it. He liked being nice to people and scaring everyone would make him a bully. His mother taught him about bullying, and said if someone is ever mean to him, he should tell her and she would fix it all up. He didn't want to strike terror into his mum's heart, but she wasn't a man so maybe she didn't get included in mankind. He wasn't sure about that. Maybe he'd go ask Brother Francis about it after he ate his snack. He always answered questions. 

~*~

The gardener was outside trying to set up a sprinkler when Warlock ran up to him. 

"Brother Francis!" The boy called, and the man in question looked up with a wide smile.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite little boy!" Brother Francis laughed, entirely giving up on the sprinkler. "What brings you out here today?" He settled himself onto the grass and pat a spot next to him to indicate that Warlock should join.

Warlock grinned and sat next to him. "You know what you said I'm gonna strike terror into the hearts of all mankind?" He asked. "Does that mean my mum? She's not a man."

Brother Francis chuckled and nodded. "It does include her too. Never did like using 'mankind' to describe humanity at large."

"I don't want to make Mum have terror in her heart."

"Then you can keep her out of it. It'll be your world to rule over."

"Nanny says I should have love and compassion and not make everyone be scared of me." Warlock leaned in close as if he was sharing a secret.

Brother Francis tutted and shook his head. "Daft woman's never read Machiavelli." He lay down and just stared up at the clouds moving. "Machiavelli was very smart. If you inspire fear, your subjects will follow you loyally. You'll want loyal subjects."

Warlock lay down too and screwed up his eyes so he wouldn't be looking directly at the sun. He wasn't sure if he wanted any subjects. Being king of the world was all very well and good, that bit sounded wicked. But being king and such was for old people and not for kids. Old people know things more than kids because they've been alive longer. Both Nanny and Brother tell him this is stupid and that children are probably much smarter than adults, but he still thinks being king is an adult job. Maybe he could be prince of the whole world and someone else could be king for a bit.

"Why are Nanny's eyes yellow?" He asked instead. He'd asked his mother who had said that it was a very rude question and to never bring it up to her because she was probably insecure. Warlock thought that was stupid because Nanny was never insecure.

"It's her genetics. Usually eyes are blue, brown, or green but hers must've gotten a little funny and went yellow." That was the thing about Brother Francis. He might be the gardener, but he was very smart. No matter how rude a question was or how difficult it was to answer or how stupid his father said it was, Brother Francis would answer it.

"What's genetics?"

"Genetics are what make us like us. It's like little tiny floor plans in our cells that tell what we're going to look like."

"What's cells?"

"Cells are very tiny, so tiny you could never see them without a very strong microscope. They're like little tiny blocks that built up us."

"Can I see one!"

"I don't have any right now, so I don't think so. Sorry, little one."

"You've got some all over you! You said!!"

"That I did." Brother Francis stood up with a grunt and a creaking of joints and dusted his clothes off. "Well, let's see if I don't have a microscope we can work out, hm?" He held out a hand to Warlock, who eagerly took it and shot off running towards his little cottage on the edge of the yard.

Warlock loved Brother Francis's cottage. It was just one room, with a small bed, table, and a tiny kitchen. What took up most of the space was all of his books. Most of them were on witchcraft and demons and all sorts of really cool things. Brother Francis would let him sit and read for hours and help him with all the tricky words until Nanny came storming in about it being nearly supper time and she's got to get Warlock all cleaned up now. Mostly, he just liked the pictures. Nanny says it isn't good for a little boy like him to read such scary books, but he's not _that_ little. Five is very old. And he only gets scary dreams sometimes and they aren't even about the books so there. 

Brother Francis did indeed have a microscope, and he taught Warlock how to get some cheek cells out (after reassuring him that he wouldn't fall apart and explained that cells make new cells all the time) so they could look at them. Warlock had a very good time, and after they were finished with science, Brother Francis made some tea and let Warlock pick whatever book he wanted to read this time, always prepared to help him with a new word or two...or several.

"You know, what you're king of the world, you can know whatever you want." Brother always promised. "And no one will say you can't ask or that it's a silly question. If they do, you can crush them under your feet and use their skull as a drinking cup."

Warlock considered that. Having a skull as a cup seemed kind of cool. And he liked the idea of being able to know whatever he'd like. His dad always said his questions were silly or annoying and mum always wanted to sleep or said she had a headache and Nanny wasn't the type you went to go ask things. Brother Francis was. He often felt like Nanny and Brother were more his parents than his parents were. They'd take him to museums and the park and playdates and make him snacks and tea and tell him bedtime stories and kiss his booboos all better, and his parents were busy. That's why they had a Nanny for him, because they were busy. They told him that a lot, that they had very important work but they'd be able to later, and then it'd be later and they still had very important work. So that's why he had Nanny and Brother Francis. They were weird and all, but he liked them. And he was pretty sure that they were in love. 

~*~

Azaera strolled down the halls of Hell, squeezing his way through crowds of demons. It was jam-packed, dimly lit, and the whole place smelled of sulfur, blood, and rotten fish. Needless to say, Azaera did not like being in Hell much. But he had to update the nobility of Hell on Warlock. They make him take so many notes on the poor kid, have him give a yearly report, it's all very organized. Well, as organized as things can be. For one, the meeting was held in some empty room and usually only took about five minutes. That was perfectly fine by him, because the sooner he gets out of there, the better.

"Tell us about the boy." Lord Beelzebub commanded. They demanded respect out of everyone in their presence, despite the small stature. 

Azaera clasped his hands behind his back and smiled. "Oh, he's a delight, let me tell you. Wonderful boy." 

"But is he evil?" Hastur asked, staring at Azaera as if he was picking apart at his mind.

"He is so very evil. Little irony I've constructed, he seeks out forbidden knowledge at every chance he gets." Technically, this wasn't a lie. "Like the Original Sin. Isn't that funny?"

Nobody laughed.

"Has he killed anyone yet?" Ligur demanded, stepping forward. The other demons in the room muttered their agreement.

"No, not yet. He's working his way up to it, I'm sure." Azaera chuckled. "But there's more to evil than just killing, right? Loads of options."

"I suppose." Ligur grumbled reluctantly. "But it's fun!"

Beelzebub cleared their throat and the room fell silent. "Have you encountered any problems from the...opposition?" 

Well, it wasn't a problem if he'd planned it out, right? This whole little scheme was his idea, so no problems. "They don't suspect a thing." Also technically true, since he was not in opposition with Antoni. No word on the other angels though, but he's certain they don't know about all this. He left Hell with an extra spring in his step. 

~*~

"And so," Antoni concluded, trying not to wince at how his voice echoed off the pristine white walls, "I'm proud to say that the Antichrist child is now being influenced by the light." He smiled and twisted his ring back and forth. He'd gotten all dressed up for this meeting, but his powder blue suit felt much too dark and contrasting against the blinding white, gray, and beige that made up his surroundings. 

Gabriel led the other archangels, excluding Raphael and including Sandalphon (they always did this), in a short round of probably sarcastic applause. "Very commendable, Raphael the Second." Gabriel said, smiling in a way that makes you want to sock him in the jaw. "Excellent work."

"Yes, but Raphael the Second." Michael stated serenely. "We will be most understanding when you inevitably fail. After all, wars are to be won."

"_Not _avoided." Uriel finished sternly.

There wasn't an encouraging face in the entire room, and Antoni began to feel his stomach go in knots. "Yes, but...but I won't fail." He said. "I mean, if I failed, that would be...that would be bad, right?" He laughed a little, and nobody joined him.

"Listen, we're all very proud of you for making such great leaps to regain our trust after your little _incident_." Gabriel stated. "But this little endeavor is clearly doomed to failure." He chuckled and roughly clasped Antoni on the shoulder. "But as the Almighty likes to say: Climb every mountain." With that, he left, clearly having more important things to do.

"Ford every stream." Sandalphon said dully. He imitated a smile before following Gabriel, and Michael and Uriel had nothing else to say to him. 

Antoni sighed and gave up fidgeting with his ring. He should've known they'd react like this, fake sympathy and pride and all. Even bringing up his transgressions again. He never knew why it was so offensive to them, or why they kept the grudge going for so long, but that's Heaven. Cold corners and white sterility. Not a sign of life in the damn place. 

~*~

Azaera climbs up to the top deck of the bus to meet Antoni. He spots him easily across the empty rows of seats, reading a newspaper and sipping at a coffee. Azaera sits next to him, and Antoni doesn't so much as look up at him.

"The boy's too normal." Azaera whispered. This gets a reaction out of his angel, even though it may just be a smile and folding up the paper.

"That's great, then." Antoni said. "All going according to plan. Maths and all." He shot a teasing glance over at his companion, who only sighed.

"Yes, I hope." Azaera plays with the loose end of his rainbow-striped belt. "Six years left."

Antoni looks out the window for a long moment and Azaera can tell he's worrying. The hand unoccupied with the coffee cup was twisting his gold ring around his finger.

"Azaera." He starts, fixating his gaze on the buildings flashing by. "What if...what happens if we fail? What if he does come into his power? How do we stop him then?"

The demon folds his hands on his lap and glances at his partner. "Don't you worry." He comforted, although he was feeling rather worried himself. "Math doesn't lie, you know. Nothing to worry about." He put his arm around Antoni's shoulder and tried to convince himself the same.

~*~

Up until this point, the story has been told from the distant past. Now, we are in the present day and the Antichrist will turn eleven soon. Nanny Ashorteth and Brother Francis quit their jobs at Dowling Manor rather unexpectedly, and the family was sad to see them leave. Especially little Warlock, who was not really that little anymore. They both promised they'd visit and write and call him plenty, and that they'd never forget him and they were off. Down Below, the demons of Hell are preparing for the release of the hellhound, the loyal companion of the Antichrist who will stay by his side forever and maul all who might oppose him. It's really a big deal. 

Hastur and Ligur stare past a small barred window into a pitch dark cage. They'd spend all afternoon picking the perfect hellhound for the Antichrist, finding the biggest, nastiest, smelliest, most ruthless one they had locked up. And this one...oh, this one was perfect. They share a grim smile at the sound of its low, rumbling growl.

"Now that's a hellhound." Hastur said approvingly, with a minor hint of terror. 

Ligur nodded. "Sure is big."

"This one is the biggest yet." Hastur grinned. "Only the best for our young master-to-be." 

"D'ya think he's hungry?" Ligur wondered. A hungry hellhound was something to fear, for certain. Hungry hellhounds will eat the first thing presented to them, be it angel, demon, human, or otherwise.

Hastur chuckled. "One way to find out." He turned and pointed at a random demon walking by. "You! Get in there."

The demon, who was named Eric and really was just trying to turn in some paperwork, laughed nervously. "M..me?"

"Yes you, get in." Hastur opened the door and Ligur pushed Eric inside the cage. Hastur slammed it shut and called, "Watch out for the teeth."

The warning didn't do much good, unfortunately. Seconds later, screaming could be heard from inside, along with some snarling and nasty wet tearing noises. Hastur and Ligur flinched and then smiled again.

"I think he was hungry." Ligur stated. 

~*~

In a very different part of the world, Warlock is being dragged around a park by his mother and being shown crude statues of dinosaurs. From afar, an angel and a demon watch.

"You'd think, after everything I've done, he'd have more of an appreciation for education." Azaera griped. 

"You only gave him curse books, you've absolutely ruined him." Antoni said flatly. "Now he will have to become an occultist." 

Azaera frowned and reached over to hold Antoni's hand. "We've done all we could do, love." He said. "We just have to wait for his birthday now. The hellhound is the trick, meant to show up around 3pm that Wednesday."

"There's a fucking hellhound?" Antoni exclaimed. "You never mentioned _that_!" 

Azaera froze and thought for a second, before the realization came that he actually hadn't told his partner probably the most crucial detail of the whole thing. "Right, my bad." He apologized. "Slipped my mind entirely. But, yes, hellhound. Meant to pad by his side and protect him from all harm, things like that."

"Charming."

"I hear it'll be a right big bugger."

"Won't anyone notice a big, evil-looking dog showing up all of a sudden?" Antoni questioned. "Like, I don't know, his parents?"

"Well, not exactly." Azaera shrugged. "No one will notice. Our little Warlock can do whatever he wants to with reality, even though he doesn't quite know it. So, if he wants to keep the dog and not have his parents object, well...it'll happen."

Antoni looked paler than usual and nodded slowly. "Right. Fun."

"It's the naming of it, that's what'll do it." Azaera said, attempting to provide some comfort. "It's supposed to be named something like, I don't know, Throat-Ripper or Stalks By Night or something spooky and ominous. Now, if we've done our job, and we _have_, he'll just say 'ah, scary dog' and not name it and send it away and that's that." 

"Right." Antoni breathed. "Maths. All that. And, just wondering, what if we didn't actually do our job?" 

Azaera hesitated a moment and looked back at Warlock. He was pestering his poor mother about having his birthday party in one of those newfangled escape rooms. "In that case, he'll get his powers, Armageddon is days away, and basically we're screwed."

"Right." Antoni repeated. He glanced at his hand in Azaera's and at the trees around them and the sun warming up the day...he couldn't lose this. "I mean, there has to be a way of stopping it." 

"Technically. I suppose." Azaera danced around the point he was making. "Well, I mean, if there wasn't a boy, the whole process would stop." 

"Well, yeah, but he's right there, so." Antoni gestured to Warlock, who was currently vandalizing a description of a certain type of dinosaur to say "dumbasaur" (he thought it was clever). "What gives."

Azaera sucked in a breath, almost disgusted with himself for the idea. "Yes, he's there _now_...but if he wasn't. Something could...happen to him. Some sort of...some sort of accident, you know, and-"

"What, kill him?!" Antoni shouted, then clapped a hand over his mouth. Miraculously, none of the Dowlings heard him and they carried on their day. "Are you insane?" He lowered his tone to an angry whisper. "You really want to go over there and kill him?"

"No, not me, someone. I don't know." Azaera mumbled, picking at one of the patches on his jeans. "But...well, one boy against...everyone else. There's that saying about the needs of the many and the few, and well, you know, ma-"

"Yes, mathematics. I know." Antoni interrupted. "I feel awful when one of my plants dies, I couldn't...not a child." 

Azaera nodded. "Right. That'll be last resort."

"But...the hellhound. You said it'll turn up to his party?" Antoni changed the subject, unable to bear the thought of killing the boy he'd raised and loved for eleven years. "We should be there. Try and...stop it, maybe? We could fight it."

Azaera nodded and his eyes slowly lit up. "Ooh, yes. I could entertain!" 

Antoni groaned and slid down the bench until just his torso was resting on it. "Nooooo, don't." 

"Yes! I've just got to get back into the swing of it." Azaera flexed his fingers a few times and wiggled as he pulled a coin out of the breast pocket of his shirt.

"I'm literally begging you, don't you dare, no." 

Azaera did some tricks with flipping the coin between his fingers before attempting to make it vanish. He succeeded, for a moment, until his dramatic flourish made him drop the coin. 

"I'm filing for a divorce. Right now. I'm doing it." Antoni watched Azaera scramble for the coin, which made a deck of cards, still in the box fall out of his sleeves. How did that even get there? 

Azaera circled around the bench to stand in front of Antoni and reached behind his ear. When he pulled the hand back, he was holding the coin, which might've been mildly impressive if he'd not been holding it before.

"You had it before."

"It was behind your ear."

"I know how this goes, sleight of hand, but I _saw _it before. If you do this, I'm gonna divorce you."

Azaera sat back down, a gleeful smile spread across his face. "You wouldn't."

"I would. Just watch." Despite himself, Antoni smiled too. Even though his magic tricks left a lot to be desired, he was so happy and enthusiastic about it, and he was adorable when he was happy about things.

"You aren't any fun, dear." Azaera wiggled again and put the coin in his other breast pocket. 

Antoni hoisted himself back up to properly sit on the bench. "I'm loads of fun. But...you can do real magic, like if you wanted to make something disappear, you could." 

"I'll make you disappear."

"Shut it, let's go home."

~*~

It is now the day of Warlock's birthday party, and Antoni has never been in this much agony before in his life. One reason was because he was counting down the minutes for when the hellhound would arrive. He kept looking down at his watch for the moment it would show 3pm. The other was, as a waiter, he could not interfere with Azaera's stupid magic show. Currently, the demon is fumbling his way through a card trick which would normally end with cards shooting out his sleeves. Azaera has to pull at the sleeves and shake them out himself, and Antoni sighs. The kids aren't paying attention, naturally, which he would be alright with if not for the discouraged look on Azaera's face. When he looked over towards the back of the tent, Antoni gave him a subtle thumbs-up and a smile. 

The whole backyard had been turned into a little kid's dream come true. There was a bounce house, several outdoor games scattered around, and there was a scavenger hunt planned for after the magic show. Inside the tent, there were tables of all sorts of junk foods and cakes, and on another table was a pile of gifts, all in shiny wrapping paper in pretty bows and most likely very expensive. Nanny Ashorteth and Brother Francis had sent their presents the day before, just so they wouldn't have to get to all the trouble of dressing up as them again. Antoni really did like the nanny outfit, but that tight bun gave him awful headaches. Another tent, just a few feet away, was for the parents, so they could chat about whatever they liked while watching the kids. Secret Service agents lingered about outside the tent, as if some type of threat would show up. Antoni almost laughed at the irony, that the agents would be useless in face of the biggest threat the Earth's ever seen. 

"See here, it's just me old top hat!" Azaera held up a very battered top hat and showed it around to all the kids, making sure they knew it was empty. He cut it short when he remembered no one was watching and went on. "But wait! Could it be...." here a few taps with a "magic wand" for effect, "out old furry friend, Harry the Rabbit!" Azaera pulled a large, white rabbit out of the hat (or rather, the compartment in the table under the hat) and held him up to the kids with a big smile.

"You said there would be a celebrity magician." A girl up front whined. That was true, there was meant to be a celebrity magician, but at the last moment he fell ill and couldn't make it. "_I _had Penn and Teller at _my _party, _and _I had a silent disco, _and _a-"

"You're rubbish!" Warlock shouted, to Antoni's relief and dismay. On one hand, it interrupted that irritating little one from nattering on about her party and how much better it was or whatever. On the other, Azaera's face fell, and Antoni could tell he was struggling to maintain the smile. Well, just because he's shit at magic doesn't mean a bunch of kids can make fun of him for it. Antoni can, but he's the only one allowed to make fun of his demon's shit magic.

"Excuse me." Another kid raised his hand. "Excuse me. You are actually really rubbish." 

After the party had ended, and all the parents had a talking-to with their respective child, each and every kid would deny throwing the cupcake that started the food fight. But someone had, and after that, it was a free for all. Kids ran to the snack tables and grabbed slices of cake, handfuls of crisps, cookies, and someone dumped a cup of punch on someone's head. A few of the parents ran over to calm it down, and in the chaos, no one noticed a waiter and the magician slipping away from the scene. It was certainly a birthday party to remember, especially when someone popped the bounce house and they all got to watch it deflate and ignore their parent's complaining about how out of hand kids could get.

Antoni checked his fake-gold wristwatch again, and then another time just to see if he'd read it correctly. Yes, he had. It was currently 3:06pm and not a trace of a hellhound. He brushed the remnants of a few slices of cake off his black suit jacket and slid into the driver's side of his yellow Beetle.

"It's late." He called to Azaera, who was shaking something out of his blue, star-patterned jacket. The demon had gone all out on the magic theme, with a purple striped shirt and deep blue pants with golden stars embroidered on it. It gave Antoni a massive headache to look at.

"Well, it's been up my sleeve, poor thing." Azaera caught the dead dove as it fell out of his sleeve and frowned. "I really didn't mean for it to die."

Antoni shook his head. "No, the hellhound. Six after three, wasn't it meant to be here by now?" 

"Oh, is it?" Azaera stroked the dove's head gently with two fingers, and it blinked a few times and flew off. "I didn't notice the time. I'll check in." He slid into the car (not bothering to clean himself, which earned him an extremely dirty look from Antoni) and switched on the radio. Here Comes The Sun started to play, until Azaera gave the dashboard a few good whacks and it went staticy. 

"Hello Azaera." Came a grating, raspy voice. "Is something wrong?"

"Hi there! Who is this?" Azaera asked, smiling as if they could see.

"Dagon, Lord of the Files, Master of Torments."

"Oh, yes! Hello there, Dagon. Just wanted to check in about the hellhound, see it was released properly and such."

"It should be there by now." Came the answer. "Why? Has something gone wrong?"

"Oh, nothing at all!" Azaera laughed. "Oh, there he is now, how could I have missed him? Blind as a bat, I am, yes he's certainly terrifying. Good work on that, lovely speaking with you." He smacked the dash again, and it went back to Here Comes The Sun.

The pair sat in silence a moment, staring out of the windshield. 

"No dog." said Antoni

"No dog."

"Wrong boy?"

Azaera heaved a sigh and looked over at Antoni, dread filling his eyes. "Wrong boy. We've lost the Antichrist."

"We? You brought him around, don't bring me into this."

"We, me, same difference. Same point. Let's get back to yours then, shall we?"

Antoni nodded and put the car into drive. He could definitely use a drink. 

~*~

Azaera sat at Antoni's kitchen table, face down and cradling his head with his arms. He had a glass of whisky in front of him, but he'd hardly even looked at it. There was a horrible, squirming, sick feeling in his gut, and he wasn't sure if it was to do with evil things or just his own anxieties. The real Antichrist was out there, somewhere, and he was going to come into his power and start the end of the world and what could they do about it now? He'd been so certain this would work, so sure that Warlock's normal-ness was due to their opposing influences. Turns out, he was just a boy all along. 

"Armageddon is just days away and the Antichrist is missing." Azaera said, voice muffled. "Why did they pick me, I can't do these things properly, for Satan's sake I run a mobile library! Why did they think I could do this?"

Antoni sat across from him, staring down at his own glass. Unlike Azaera, he'd downed two already and was considering a third. "Well, if you hadn't said how wonderful you were doing in those memos, maybe they'd have gotten somebody else."

"Oh, so now I'm at fault because I tell a few little white lies in the memos, all my fault because I say I'm doing a little better than I really am." Azaera popped his head up to glare at Antoni, then put it back down. "Everyone does it. Not my fault."

"Well, yes that, but you said you did the Spanish Inquisition, and World War Two, and-"

"Right, yes, I get it." Azaera leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. "Humans did it first, how does Hell know it weren't my idea to-" He froze suddenly and sat up straight. He sniffed a couple of times and his bright blue eyes widened.

"What's up?" Antoni stood up and circled around the table to wrap his arms around Azaera from behind.

"Something's changed." The demon didn't react to his partner's new closeness, his eyes still alert and flickering around the room.

Antoni smiled and rested his head on Azaera's tangled mass of white hair. "New cologne. You like it? The lady at the shop said-"

"No no, I know what _you _smell like!" Azaera hissed. "No, the...the hellhound found his master." He let his head fall back on the table, making Antoni stumble and grab the chair to avoid falling. 

"You're sure?" Antoni breathed, not sure if he even wanted the answer.

"I felt it. You know I wouldn't lie to you." 

Antoni shrugged. "I dunno, could be a demon thing."

"Not about something this important!" Azaera exclaimed, propping his head up on his folded arms. He looked like he might cry, and Antoni wanted to hug him right there, but he held himself back. "The boy, he's out there, and he's got the dog. He's come into his power." Azaera laughed weakly, but the humor didn't reach his eyes at all. "So. Any Plan B?"

Antoni dug the heels of his palm into his eyes and grit his teeth. He couldn't feel this things as certainly as Azaera, but something in the atmosphere felt a little more evil. "You gonna drink that?" He asked at last, pointing at Azaera's whisky glass. The demon pushed it over to Antoni and ducked his head back down. Antoni raised the glass in a mock toast and slammed it back. 

"Here's to being absolutely fucked."

~*~

The boy, named Adam Young, was delighted. He'd just had the best birthday of his entire life, he was sure. First, he'd gotten chocolate chip pancakes and sausages for breakfast, and was allowed to eat it in the living room and watch cartoons. Then, he was given some money by his parents and sent out with his friends to get lunch and ice cream by themselves, which was a lot of fun because they got to order whatever they liked. Adam had got a root beer float with his lunch, which his parents usually only let him have sometimes for desserts. Once he and his friends had finished eating, they all went to their special place in Hogback Woods to play all sorts of games until supper. Adam had made up a game about kings and aliens, and they played for hours. Then the best part was he got his very own dog! It was tiny and white with black spots and he was absolutely perfect. Adam just named him Dog, because he couldn't really think of a very good name. Maybe later, when he came up with something better he'd rename Dog, but for now it was alright. Pepper had said since it had no collar it had to be a stray, and Wensley said it probably had fleas and lice and diseases, and Brian suggested Wallace for a name. All the way home, Adam held Dog and laughed whenever he licked his face or tried to wiggle out of his arms. He just knew he'd be able to keep Dog. They were perfect for each other, best buddies until the end of time. Why wouldn't Adam's parents let him keep Dog?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally,,,,we may move on to episode 2,,,,,,,,,,,
> 
> Also if you notice any stupid typos, I just post these and don't notice so just point them out or smth I don't mind


	5. two days till the end of the world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll get some POVs from the other characters (Anathema, Newt, Adam, etc) but not a whole lot. I do want to write this like the series but with the roles switched around, and also I adore Anathema and the thought of cutting her out hurts me physically.

Whenever Antoni needs to think, he takes to his plants. Today, he definitely needs to think. There is quite a lot of things going on, several of which he hasn't fully processed. The fact that in two short days his little greenhouse won't even exist? Logically, he knows that's a true statement if he and Azaera don't get moving on this Antichrist situation, but currently there are absolutely no leads and the demon seems to have entered some sort of depressive state over the whole thing. Antoni had tried to look for his library that morning, but it wasn't in the usual places and he didn't see it in the unusual ones either. That was a shock because it isn't the sort of vehicle you overlook. Oh yes, he clearly had some thinking he had to be doing. 

He hummed a cheery tune as he picked up his painted watering can and made the rounds. The place had been named Antoni's Eden, because it really was. A perfect garden all his own to enjoy away from the harshness of reality. Until someone came in to try and buy one of his plants, which would not do whatsoever. They were practically his children, he _named _them all for Her sake. Antoni smiled as he walked up to Doris, a particularly lovely specimen of lady slipper. He pet down the stem and laughed a little when she perked up at the touch. They all knew their place. 

"Hello there, darling." He said, sprinkling some water into her pot. "You're looking well today. I see you've fixed your posture since last week." He moved on around the large room, giving each plant a special mixture of compliments and subtle threats. They all knew their place. They knew not to disobey him or to do wrong or else they would be punished. He was in charge in his own personal Eden, and no one could challenge or contest his power.

Antoni was just about finished when the bell on the door tinkled. He turned his head sharply towards the door, nasty words and comments about the sign that clearly said "closed" ready to fly, until he saw who had come in. Harsh glares softened into a plastic smile as Gabriel and his perpetual sidekick Sandalphon looked around in bewilderment. 

"Raphael!" Gabriel called, voice echoing throughout the empty space. "Just the entity we were looking for."

"Quite a few living beings you've captured here." Sandalphon nodded respectfully.

Antoni was about to scream. His name was on _the fucking sign_. But also he's fairly sure Gabriel just can't read. "Yes, they're plants." Antoni explained, resisting the powerful urge to use his talking-to-a-small-child voice. "Quite lovely. Anyway, what's the deal, lads?" He put the watering can on the floor and wiped his hands on his overalls. 

"Nothing major, Sandalphon and I--you remember Sandalphon, right?" Gabriel grinned and pointed at his companion, who waved.

Antoni nodded, becoming a little more nervous. "Yes, yes. Sodom and Gomorrah. Lots of smiting and salting people. Can't forget a guy like that." Memories of fire, of screams ringing from every corner, of charred bodies strewn across the roads in the aftermath, of tears and wailing of the friends and family of people who had died, of the nice shiny medal Sandalphon had received for his horrific actions. Antoni had wanted to help, had wanted to will the fires out and the people to safety, but he couldn't He had stood there, frozen with fear, and watched as countless people died. He dreaded Falling for interfering, but the night after, once he'd had several drinks, he confessed to Azaera that he wouldn't mind Falling if it meant he could be separated from Heaven's cruelty. 

"Something smells...evil." Sandalphon stated, looking around suspiciously. Gabriel stared him down, silently demanding explanation.

"Flytraps." Antoni shrugged. "Terrible temper on those."

The angels seemed to accept that explanation and went back to business. "Anyways," Gabriel fixed the cuffs on his neatly pressed sleeves, "we just came by to check on the status of the Antichrist." 

Antoni fiddled with his ring and nervously glanced between the two. "Oh, why? Did something go wrong? We know where he is and such? I mean, if there's a problem just tell me and I'll get some of my men on it, and-"

"Woah, nothing's wrong, Raphael." Gabriel laughed and held his hands up. "Calm down a little. No, no, everything's going perfectly! There's quite a lot happening, all good."

"All...good?" Antoni said hopefully, brightening considerably. Good had to mean the world was alright, it couldn't be used to describe the process of literally everything being burnt to a crisp. That would be really bad actually, which is the opposite of good. 

"Well, you know." Gabriel inspected Jordan (a sweet little rosebush). "Everything going according to the Divine Plan. Hellhound's been claimed by the Antichrist, the Four Horsemen being rounded up, you know."

Antoni felt his heart drop and struggled to keep the smile on. Of course, good is the Divine Plan. "Who actually summons the Horsemen?"

Gabriel shrugs and thankfully leaves poor Jordan alone. "Not my department. I think they're independently sourced these days."

"About time, that's what I say." Sandalphon finally spoke up. "You can't have a war without War."

Gabriel's face lights up like that was the cleverest shit he's heard in his entire immortal life. "Sandalphon, that is very good! You can't have a war without War?" He clapped Sandalphon on the back, who was the dumbest smug grin planted on his face. "I'll have to use that. Anyway, how was the hellhound?" Gabriel steered the conversation back on topic.

"Oh, eh....didn't stick around to see." Antoni twisted his ring so fast it nearly hurt. "Phobia of dogs. Shame."

Gabriel patted Antoni on the shoulder as if playing at pity. "I'm sure you'll see it eventually. It's been great chatting with you." He lead Sandalphon out the door, still in awe over "you can't have a war without War", as if it wasn't the dullest statement an entity could make. 

Antoni sighed and sat down against his wooden plant stand. There had to be something he could do, could say to convince Heaven this was a bad idea. There had to be some way to appeal to their sympathy and kindness, no matter how far buried it was under arrogance and cruelty. After all, angels are supposed to be good, right? Or maybe he could find a way to speak directly to God, even though She's not spoken directly to any angel in thousands of years. The urgency of the situation couldn't be ignored, he's sure of it. If She knew that the angels were planning on destroying the world She created for Her humans, the most beloved of Her creations, why She might just have a conniption fit. Destroying things was a demon's job, Heaven ought to be preparing to stop them. That would be the good thing to do. Maybe so many years without Her guidance has made angels go a bit odd. Lots of maybes, not enough certainty. He hated being uncertain. He stood up, picked up his watering can, and stalked over to Kendra. Her petals had been looking a bit dull as of late. 

~*~

Azaera had been stressed since last evening. The metaphorical clock was ticking, and it was ticking rather loudly. He swore he could here a constant _tick tock tick tock _wherever he went today, reminding him once again that everything he loves could be all over soon. Doesn't matter if Heaven or Hell won the big pissing contest, he'd be miserable either way. Azaera doesn't like _evil_, because evil, at least in Hell's terms, means death and destruction and blood and pain, and that's really just not his speed. He'd much prefer to eat a Kit-Kat bar whole and watch everyone give him irritated glances. If Hell wins, he wouldn't have his fun anymore, just...who knows, hunting the surviving humans for sport or something. Playing golf with someone's kidney stones. Nasty things like that. And if Heaven wins, he'd probably be dead so that wouldn't be doing much for him either. And of course, the idea of having to fight Antoni was unthinkable. He could never hurt his partner, never. 

He was wandering absentmindedly through the streets of London, eating pastries he'd bough from a bakery a while back. His bus was somewhere, but he didn't need to know exactly where it was. It would come when he needed it, and right now he was fine with his walking and his stress-eating. Passerby gave him strange looks, some of them pitying, but he doesn't pay attention. There has to be a way to stop the process. Kill the boy? Absolute last resort when everything else failed. Kill the hellhound? Maybe. Save for later. Kill God? Interesting thought, probably wouldn't work and would instead cause some sort of horrible cataclysm worse than the end of the world. Do not attempt. Something that doesn't involve killing? Preferable. Azaera hated evil, all just senseless violence and bloodshed. He always made some excuse for not participating in it, and he figures by now they just know him. He doesn't mind sin, not at all, especially since most are harmless fun. A little Gluttony never hurt anyone, a bit of Pride could actually do a person some good, and what's a touch of Sloth done to anyone? But it's not as if he could take a nice long nap and be done with this Antichrist problem. If only it was that easy. 

"Bad morning, Azaera" Hastur's voice floated from somewhere unseen. Azaera whirled around until he saw the demon and his partner Ligur on some electronic advertising billboard. 

"Hello there to you too." Azaera managed to keep eyes and ears turned away from him. "You look simply ravishing in that dress, Ligur." 

Ligur glared, which looked a lot more terrifying when magnified several times. "Just checking in on the Antichrist."

"Oh, him, yes." Azaera stammered. "Lovely boy, you'll adore him. Takes after his old man."

Hastur was apparently not invested in details about the Antichrist. "Our operatives in the State Department have arranged for the boy to be flown to the Middle East." He rasped. 

"There, he and the hellhound will be taken to the Valley of Megiddo." Ligur continued.

"The Four Horsemen will began their final ride." Hastur looked gravely serious, and yet a hint of excitement was visible in his pitch dark eyes.

"Hurrah for that." Azaera cheered weakly, taking a rather large bite out of a chocolate croissant. 

"Armageddon will begin." Hastur continued. "The final combat. This is what we've been working for since we rebelled. We are the Fallen. Do not forget that."

Azaera chuckled nervously. "Awful hard to forget that, what with the wings on fire and breaking one's back on the ground, all of that."

Hastur glared and leaned forward, giving Azaera a nice view of his skin damage, which really wasn't the type of thing one wants to see on a large billboard. 

"I don't trust you." He whispered, before the screen switched to a different advertisement and they were gone. Azaera stood a moment longer, staring at the billboard and at nothing. The wrong boy was being sent out there, without a hellhound. He smiled a bit at that, thinking of the shocked expression of whatever demon has to greet the boy. Wouldn't that just be funny, them realizing the situation is completely out of their hands? It'd be _rich_. Or it was, until Azaera realized they would probably link the mix up back to him and they'd be mad at him. 

"Didn't even mean to Fall." He mumbled, somewhat sadly, as he continued his walk. "Not my fault they can't take a bit of constructive criticism up there."

~*~

Of course, this is not just a story of an angel, a demon, and a misplaced Antichrist. It's also a story about a witch, a witchfinder and a book. This one starts about 360 years ago, with the burning of Agnes Nutter by Witchfinder Major Thou-Shalt-Not-Commit-Adultery Pulsifer. It was also the last witch-burning in England, possibly because this witch had been smarter than anyone could've imagined. Agnes Nutter had the gift of seeing into the future, like so many people seemed to have those days. However, her gift was true, and on the day she was meant to die, she filled her petticoats with gunpowder and roofing nails so she could take the whole village with her. 

She left behind two things, a book and a box. The box was given to a family friend and the book was kept by her daughter and son-in-law, Virtue and John Device. Said book was The Nice And Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch and its prophecies were all correct. It was the only book of prophecies that was entirely, 100% correct, which is precisely why it never sold. There are no copies out in the world today, except for the one given to Virtue Device. It has stayed in the family for hundreds of years, and the Device family has dedicated their lives to figuring them out.

The last Device who will be able to do so is sitting at a coffee table in a very fancy home in Malibu, coloring a picture on the title page. Her name was Anathema, and she liked the prophecies, but only the ones about her. That's what children find interesting, reading about themselves. Sitting next to her was a box of well-worn note cards, a prophecy written on each one. There were notes and add-ons in different pens and handwriting. No Device has written in the book itself, except, of course, Anathema, who thought her drawing was a lovely addition to an otherwise dreary book. Anathema has a few special talents of her own, including the ability to see laylines and auras. She doesn't know the importance yet and thinks it's a fun game. In a moment, her mother will return to the room with a cookie, her reward for memorizing prophecies. She will get the cookie, because even at just six years old, she knows the importance of her place in this world. She's meant to save it.

Witchfinder Major Pulsifer didn't leave behind anything so impressive, besides a wife and a few children. His family was not remarkable for anything, until the day a young Newton Pulsifer was born several hundred years later. He seemed to be cursed around electronics, any computer, phone, or digital calculator he touched shut down. Often the power in the whole building would go out, because somehow Newt had managed to shut down the circuit board by trying to look up a book at the library. He'd gotten very used to managing without electronics, which was a shame because he loved them. Was fascinated with them from an early age. He desperately wanted to be a computer engineer, which became less of a job prospect and more of a joke as he got older. Still, he would try. 

Today, in the present, both of these people are changing their lives. Anathema Device, now in her twenties, boards a plane to London. There, she will make her way to Jasmine Cottage in Tadfield and begin her work: to look for the Antichrist and bring him down before he can end the world. She expects him to be a large and terrifying monster of some type, resembling the poster she has of it. Newton Pulsifer, also in his twenties, starts and ends a new job within an hour, which has gotten steadily less and less disappointing. The important thing about today is he meets an odd man, Sergeant Shadwell, the last witchfinder left in London. Newton only agrees to join the Witchfinder Army because, well, he needs something to do with his life, and besides, he feels a bit sorry for the poor old man. Their stories are just beginning, and will merge with each other's and a few other stories along the way, as stories so often do. After all, a story can't be just about one set of people. That makes for quite a dull story.

~*~

Although his bus was small and cramped, Azaera was not uncomfortable. There had been a hatch leading to a small storage area, and Azaera had miracled it to be a decent living quarters. Not as cozy as Antoni's basement, nor as spacious, but it made do. A bed in one corner, a wardrobe in the other, a fridge on one wall to hold his snacks, and a few private bookshelves all for himself on the other. Everything in this little space was old. The table had scratches and stains, the bed creaked and the quilt was worn out, the bookshelves were near collapse, the books themselves would've been dust if not for some demonic intervention, the little stove barely worked, the kettle was severely dented, and the tacky furniture had patches covering up holes. This was exactly how Azaera liked it. Warm, comforting, and not too large. A large space would feel lonely and he'd had quite enough of that. There were tangible memories surrounding the area.

Currently, Azaera is having a conversation with someone on his rotary phone, or at least trying to.

"Oh, The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch? Sorry, lad, can't help you there!" He said cheerfully, fully expecting that to be the end of the conversation, until the person on the other end speaks up again. "Yes, of course I know who she was, born 1600, blew up 1656, but I simply don't have a copy."

The would-be customer snapped impatiently and Azaera heaved a sigh. "Yes I've checked the shelves, it isn't there. I've been at this a long time and it's not exactly a large place either. I. Do. Not. Have. It. No one has it, why don't you check an online bookstore, or-" He paused as a rather impressive string of curses flew at him from the phone.

"There's no need for that type of language." Azaera said coolly and hung the phone up. He sat down in one of his bowling-alley print chairs and ran a hand through his shock of hair. What he wouldn't give to actually own a copy of The Nice and Accurate Prophecies. Of course, he wants to spread evil knowledge or whatever he said to get the loan, but it was the Holy Grail of any rare book collector. Every unsold copy was destroyed, and none of them ever sold. It is still rumored that one is out there, but no one's managed to even lay eyes on it. If Azaera had a copy, it certainly would not be up top with the ones he loans out. No risk of having it lost or misplaced or some child spilling something on it. The worst patrons are the ones that lose or wreck the books and ask if he accepts any _payment _in return for them. As if something so precious as a book could be replaced with simple sheets of paper given value. 

Azaera was about to get up and make a nice cup of tea, and maybe grab some more donuts to stress eat when his phone rang again. He answered it, fully prepared to be angry and firm with the last almost-patron, and relaxed when a familiar voice came from the other end.

"Oh, hello there Antoni! Nothing yet on the situation. You?"

"It's about that. I had an idea. When you did the baby shuffle eleven years ago, could something have gone wrong?"

~*~

Antoni backed out of his driveway into the London traffic with a moping demon in the passenger seat.

"Oh, I just _knew _I'd get it wrong somehow." Azaera moaned. "That man, that nice man I talked to outside, how could I have even _thought _he was with the ambassador, he had on a sweater vest for Pete's sake. Someone else ought to have done it, they'd have had it done properly."

"I'm sure you did fine." Antoni said distractedly. "Stressful night, I assume. Anyway, he's still out there. We know his birthday, we know he's also eleven-"

"Yes that narrows it down. How many eleven year old boys in the world with this birthday do you think there are, three?!"

"You're getting stressed." Antoni pushed Azaera's hand away from the volume dial. "You know the place he was born at. Place has records, we could find out. Easy peasy."

Azaera tugged at his vest fringe and sighed. "I suppose. I do hope he's alright, though."

Antoni snorted at that. "Yeah, poor boy, only bringing about the end of the world. Better check if we're alright."

"No need for the attitude, love." Azaera leaned over to look at the speedometer. "So, find hospital, look at records, find the boy. Easy enough."

"Should be. Where was the place?"

"Uh, little local place in this small town, Tadfield, in Oxford. St. Beryls. Will you slow down, _please?_ This is a busy street."

"I'm going the speed limit!" Antoni cried, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "Look, just because your car is a piece of junk doesn't mean all cars are."

Azaera glared at him, without any meaning or anger behind the glance. "It goes as fast as it needs to be. Why don't I turn on the radio?"

Once Azaera had it in his mind to bug you, there wasn't any stopping him. Antoni groaned and silently accepted his fate as Eleanor Rigby began playing. He wouldn't have been surprised if Azaera himself had cursed the car, seemed like the thing he would do. Or the car thought it was funny. 

"There's a person coming out into the road!" Azaera shouted suddenly, pointing at a woman standing at the edge of the sidewalk. 

"Yes, she sees me, and she will not run out into the road unless she would like to be run over." Antoni sighed. Driving with Azaera was an absolute nightmare, since he wasn't used to anything over three miles an hour, and didn't even drive that much in his little bus. 40 miles per hour was fast as light to the poor demon. This only meant more complaining endured by Antoni, and despite being an angel he did not have the patience of one. The drive only took about three hours, but it felt like much, much longer. 

~*~

Adam, Pepper, Brian, and Wensleydale trekked through the forest. The excitement of the previous day's birthday celebration had not entirely faded, and Adam was enjoying the new and temporary seniority over the rest of his friends. Brian's eleventh birthday was in two weeks, so he wouldn't be the oldest for longer than that, but those two weeks were always fun. Today, they were hiking up a hill, each in a costume. Wensley wore a witch's hat made from cardboard and held a broom, Adam and Brian wore bathrobes and held big sticks with sharp rocks duct taped on, and Pepper wore a baseball cap with her bathrobe. That afternoon, Pepper had told the Them that a witch had moved into Jasmine Cottage. The woman who cleans there was a friend of her mother, and had told them all about it. The lady there got witch magazines and had all sorts of weird witch things in the house and a big scary poster in the kitchen. This had inspired them to play The British Inquisition, where they would question and torture Evil Witch Wensleydale until he confessed to being an evil witch and they burned him to death. It was a very fun game and they couldn't wait to play. 

On the way up, they ran into someone they'd never seen before in Tadfield, which was odd because everyone knew each other in Tadfield. She seemed like a nice lady, only she wore a blue plaid dress and carried an old book around, along with some strange-looking objects. She seemed just as surprised to see them as they were to see her. 

"Hi." She said, ignoring Dog's barking. "Nice hat."

"Actually," started Wensleydale, "it's made of cardboard. It's for our game."

"Very stylish." The woman said, starting to follow. The Them thought it was because she was being nosy and would snitch on them to Mr. Tyler. In reality, she just worried about the children out and about without adult supervision. "What are you playing?"

"The British Inquisition." Wensley looked like he might stop to explain before he got pulled along by Pepper, nearly knocking his hat off. 

The woman, who is Anathema Device from earlier, smiles at them. They're cute kids. "Sounds like fun. How do you play?"

"I'm Chief Inquisitor." Adam spoke up. "Brian is Head Torturer, and we're trying to find a witch."

Anathema nodded and clutched her book tighter to her chest. "Hm. Sounds sensible. How's that work?"

Adam smiled. "We'll show you!" He and Brian pointed their sticks at Wensley and Pepper grabbed him from behind. 

"Art thou a witch?" Brian asked in a bad imitation of a Spanish accent. "Ole!" 

Wensley was shaken about a little by Pepper before answering with a quiet "yes?".

Pepper sighed and let go of him. "No, that isn't how the game works!" She said. "You've got to say no."

"Well, I _am _a witch!"

"I know but you've just got to say no." The two bickered a little more before deciding to resolve this at the top of the hill and continuing on their hike.

"Now what?" Anathema asked.

"Now we torture him until he says yes." Adam explained very calmly, ignoring Anathema's suppressed look of surprise.

"You're...torturing him?" Anathema was sure they wouldn't actually do something bad to the little guy, but you could never be sure with kids. Even if they didn't actually do any torture methods, they might just beat him up and that wouldn't do at all. This, she thought, was why children needed supervision. No one answered her, and continued walking up the hill, which took all of ten seconds. There wasn't anything that looked remotely like it could hurt anyone. All there was was a tire swing, which Wensley hopped into with enthusiasm. Anathema smiled, letting any worries about these kids be swept out of her mind. They were just a group of regular kids playing silly little games. 

"Actually, in this scenario, I am a witch." Wensleydale brought the argument back to life. "I've got a pointy hat and we've got a cat back at home and I borrowed my mother's broom."

Pepper put her hands on her hips and looked as serious and exhausted as a ten year old could. "Well, yes, you are a witch, you've just got to say you aren't. It doesn't make sense if we're going about torturing you and you've already said you're a witch."

"Art thou a witch, oh evil crone?" Brian asked blandly from his position as swing-pusher. "Look, Adam. I don't see why I have to do all the work."

"I'm being tortured here! Actually it's very painful. I might just say I'm a witch"

Brian turned to face Adam with a very serious expression. "I'm going home if I can't get a turn."

"You have to keep pushing!" Wensley whined. Brian heaved a great, dramatic sigh and gave another push.

Anathema cleared her throat and moved a little closer to Adam. "Hey, kid. Can I ask you something?"

Adam looked up and nodded. "Yeah."

"Are there any...great beasts, or strange things happening?"

"Well, there's Dog." Adam pointed down at the little dog, who was currently inspecting a rather large grasshopper. "Come on Dog, say hi."

Anathema laughed and shook her head. "Not exactly what I was looking for, but thank you for the help."

"Hold on a moment." Adam entered the British Inquisition again and spoke. "Ok, evil witch Wensleydale, uh...don't do it again. And now get off the torturing device and let someone else have a go." 

Brian eagerly clambered onto the tire swing and grabbed the witch hat off of Wensley's head so he could properly be a witch and have somebody torture him. Anathema looked at the scene and felt her heart warm. They were very sweet kids, and she was glad they had such a nice place to grow up in, a place with plenty of freedom and nature. They reminded her of how much was at stake if she didn't get on with her work. 

"Alright, well it was fun hanging out with you guys, but I've got to be headed out now. Bye!" She waved to them, and they all waved back, and she left to find a suitable place to try her dowsing rods again. She'd already figured out that it was this town, or at least somewhere nearby, but the exact locations get fuzzy if she gets too far or too close. And if she didn't find it, not only would those sweet little kids all die, everybody would die. Having the lives of basically the entire world on ones shoulders is a bit anxiety-inducing at times, but it's a motivator like no other. So, back to work it was.

~*~

"This should be it." Azaera stared out the window as Antoni parked the car. It certainly looked different from the last time he'd seen it. For one, there were all sorts of fancy cars in the parking lot, much more than he suspected there had ever been. Local religious hospitals don't attract many customers, but maybe he was wrong about that and giving birth at Satanic convents was a new fad these days. Kids will think up anything. There was also a great deal of fog and clutter inside the gates, which definitely had not been there before. The fog, he suspected, was from one of those machines, since it was a sunny day. But all the barrels and metal oil drums scattered around inside, that could only tell that the nuns were getting messy. The sign above the gate had changed to say "Tadfield Manor" which seemed a bit like overkill. No proper manor would have all this junk just lying around.

Antoni looked skeptically at the place as he stepped out. "You're sure this is it? Doesn't much look like a hospital."

"I'm sure." Azaera walked down the short dirt driveway and pointed. "See, those stone lions were here before. And the gate's nearly the same. Maybe they did some renovations."

"Renovations that involve throwing shit all over the place." Antoni grumbled. He walked through the gate and was suddenly overwhelmed by massive amounts of a soft and warm feeling, so much he stumbled backward and nearly fell.

"Are you alright?" Azaera clutched onto Antoni's arm, in case he fell again.

"This place feels...loved." Antoni breathed, a smile coming across his face. "Really, really loved."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, I don't know, it's hard to explain it. Like, uh...like you know when you go somewhere and you say 'this is spooky and I don't like it'? Polar opposite of that." 

"I like spooky things." Azaera groused. "Got a whole bus of spooky books."

Antoni pointedly ignored his partner's complaining and felt much too filled with this place's Love to be bothered by it. "Let's go chat up some nuns." He strolled in the courtyard, still sporting a stupid giddy smile. Azaera followed, a little hesitantly. He didn't have very good memories of the place, except for Sister Mary. She'd been rather sweet. 

The pair of them were barely inside when they were shot by...someone. Something.

"Ah, shit!" Crowley yelled, turning his second stumble of the day into twisting around to see who the attacker was. 

Azaera seemed only mildly upset by the situation, as if being shot was something he did on a regular basis. "Oh, this is ridiculous, how was I to know the nuns had guards now, and it's not like they just hand out new bodies like candy."

Antoni stopped for a moment to look at the stains. Azaera had a blue patch on his shoulder, and Antoni knew very well that the demon didn't have blue blood. He touched the red stain on his shirt and licked it. "This is just paint." He said, holding his hand up. 

Azaera was about to say something when a man in some sort of jumpsuit and helmet came running up to them. "Hey!" He shouted. "You've both been hit! I don't know what you're playing at, but-"

A wave of Antoni's hand had the man fall to the ground, soundly asleep. "Well, there's that problem taken care of."

"Well we still have more problems. For one, just _look _what they did to my vest!" Azaera was twisting over backwards to look at the blue stain on the shoulder of his yellow vest. 

Antoni sighed. "You can wash it out at the laundromat. Or miracle it away or...what's the demon equivalent of a miracle"

"I can't just do _that_!" Azaera sounded scandalized. "Remember, I bought this in the 70s after we went to that nice little cafe? This has _memories _attached to it and I can't just...just wash it out!"

The area's Love was still present, but Antoni was less filled up by it, as he definitely felt annoyed at Azaera's whining. Clothes were not something very important to the demon, evidently, but here he is getting all sentimental about an ugly vest. In a way, he supposed it was sweet. Antoni blew out a puff of air, letting the stain float away on it and discreetly doing the same for his clothes. Wouldn't do for him to be traipsing about with a big red stain on his front.

"Oh. Oh, thank you." Azaera smiled so sweetly at him, Antoni felt his brain stop working for a few seconds. He'd gotten extremely lucky all those thousands of years ago. He felt filled to the brim with a love of his very own. His brain came back on when Azaera held the man's gun up. 

"I don't think it shoots bullets." He said. "Just paintballs." 

"Interesting structure." Antoni commented. 

Azaera gave him a funny look. "Don't your sorts disapprove of guns?" He held it properly and aimed at Antoni, a wide smile on his face.

"Well, yes, in a general sense. Unless the right people have them. Some sort of moral argument." Antoni pushed the gun away and walked up towards the manor once more. He knew that smile on Azaera and it never was good for him. Usually it meant The Beatles. "Come on, let's go find your missing baby."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Antoni breaks out the full names, the plants know they done fucked up. Also catch him unknowlingly using the plants as a way to feel in control of something and takes the role of God with them and keeps his plants in line using subtle threats which is how the other angels keep him in line.
> 
> Casually forgets miles don't exist in the UK but also it's too late to go to kilometers now


	6. still two days until the end of the world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wall scene becomes even gayer

"Well, this isn't a hospital!" 

Azaera looked around the front lobby, confusion and frustration evident in his expression. He pushed up his glasses as he picked up a brochure for the place, which advertised it as a paintballing place, that it hosts parties, events, management training, and weddings. Nothing about the nuns that lived here once or where they might've gotten to. He put it back in the display, among other brochures that advertised other such local venues and frowned. Antoni hung back and looked around the place as if scanning the molding on the ceiling for any hints. 

"Yeah, no shit." The angel crossed his arms and fiddled with his ring. "Let's just look around a bit? Maybe we can find somebody in charge and ask them."

First, they started with a chat with the receptionist, who was about twenty and didn't really know anything about the building was that the building was old but the business was new, as new as businesses can be these days. This confirmed at least one thing, that this was the right place. Azaera thanked the woman and they moved on. However, at the lobby dipped into hallways, something gave the demon pause. A large, framed photograph of the woman who had started the business. She was dressed sharply with a neat hairdo, and something about her name on a plaque underneath and the look in her eyes was entirely too familiar to him. 

"Are you coming or what?" Antoni shouted, already started down the hall and Azaera followed. It was probably nothing. After all, how many Marys are there in the world? A lot. 

As the pair started down the hall to the right, a woman came barreling in through one of the doors and nearly rammed into the wall opposite. She looked up at them and smiled, strands of her hair sticking to her face. 

"Millie from accounts got me in the elbow!" She said in a heavy Scottish accent, holding her arm out and started to back back outside. "D'ya know who's winning?"

"You're all going to lose." Azaera said gloomily as the woman left the way she came. He hesitated at the doorway as Antoni went on, and smiled as an idea hit him. He waved his hand and continued on his way, his spirits lifted slightly by the way the dull bang of the paintball guns turned into the sharp, rapid cracking of gunfire. Antoni froze with his head inside a dark doorway and turned to the window with a look of horror. 

"What the Hell did you do?" He hissed, reluctantly following Azaera down the hallway, as the demon laughed quietly, a hint of bitterness made itself known in the sound.

"Well, you know." Azaera shrugged, as if it were no big deal. The gunfire cracking paused for a moment as the people realized what they now held, before starting up again. "I could tell they'd have wanted real guns. So, there they go, they have it. And from the sounds of it, they don't mind." If the world does end, Azaera thought, best to get used to evil. "See, moral argument. If they were good people, they'd not have started shooting at each other again. Isn't that how your lot see it?" 

"You...they..._what??_" Antoni stammered, getting in front of Azaera and gesturing out the window. "You've gave them _guns?_ You've got people out there fucking killing each other, that is not like you-"

Azaera held up his hands and exhaled, stopping what was turning into a very heated lecture. Antoni froze in place, the stern, angry look starting to turn into confusion. "It isn't like me. No one's dying, they're all having some sort of miraculous escapes. Or everyone's aim is way off, I forgot which I did."

Antoni sagged down like the air had been sucked out of him and placed a hand over his heart, a dramatic show he liked to put on every now and then, acting like he was all sorts of distressed by Azaera's antics. "You are _horrid_." He laughed and leaned against the wall. "An absolute nightmare." There was definitely something about the immense amounts of love in this place that was throwing him off his usual beat. He felt calm and warm, even though the world would be ending in just a couple of days and the Antichrist was out somewhere and coming into his power. He felt relaxed and wanted to stay in this hallway with Azaera until the end of time, which really wasn't all that far away. Past the end of times, maybe. Their own little reality, in this hallway.

"Oh, a _nightmare_, am I?" Azaera circled around, broad smiles and twinkling eyes for miles, until he was stood far too much in Antoni's personal space. Antoni loved it. "Is that really how you see me?"

"Absolutely." The angel laughed, watching the demon stand on his toes to try to get in his face. "You go out giving people guns and losing Antichrists and never getting your engine fixed even though I offer. You are the constant source of my headaches." Yes, it must definitely be the love filling up the Tadfield Manor getting to him, or else he would never allow this. He would never allow Azaera to get this close, not in the open, not when any eyes from Above or Below might be peering up or down at them. Yes, he decides, it's the Manor. 

"Well, I must confess it goes both ways." Azaera teased, hands holding Antoni's face, a bit too gently for the angel's comfort. "Your little basement is much too cluttered, I can't make heads nor tails of that mobile telephone of yours, and your Beetle is a terror in itself." 

Antoni opened his mouth to respond when the _click-click-click_ of high heeled shoes echoed down the empty hallway. Antoni hastily pushed Azaera away from him and attempted to casually lean against the wall. 

"Sorry to break up an intimate moment, gentlemen." She said smoothly, the tone of a person who's been practicing how to say the right thing for years now. "Can I help you?" She smiled politely, but as soon as her eyes landed on Azaera, she gasped and took an unconscious step backwards.

"Oh dear."

"Saints and demons preserve us, it's Mr. Azaera!" She breathed, and seemed about to say something more, or possibly just scream, but Azaera stepped forward, held his hands up in a calming gesture, and Mrs. Mary Hodges fell silent and her expression went blank.

"Did you really need to do that?" Antoni pushed himself off the wall, careful not to make eye contact with the demon. He stepped in front of Mrs. Hodges and wondered how on earth she knew his partner. 

Azaera rocked backwards and sighed. "Well, if she'd caused a commotion, that would be more problems. Plus, we'll know she's telling the truth this way."

"Could've just asked." Antoni grumbled, for the pure sake of conversation.

"Oh yes, that'd be pleasant. 'Hello there, just me again, and I've brought an angel along, because we've gotten the Antichrist all lost and we'd rather the world not end so would you help?'" 

"_You _got the Antichrist all lost. And she might actually remember, but you had to go and freeze her."

Azaera rolled his eyes and turned to face Mrs Hodges. "Hello there." He started, pointedly ignoring a groan from Antoni. "We were wondering if you happened to be a nun at a convent here eleven years ago?"

"I was." She answered in an almost robotic voice. 

"Well, luck of the devil." Antoni smirked at the amused look he got from Azaera.

"Oh, hush you." He smiled and turned back to Mrs. Hodges. "The little baby I gave to you, do you know what happened to him?"

Mrs. Hodges nodded and smiled faintly. "I switched him with the American ambassador." She said, a twinge of pride in her voice. "Such a nice man. He used to be ambassador to Swindon. Then Sister Theresa came and took the other baby away."

Azaera sighed and looked at Antoni apologetically, as if he were personally responsible for the former nun not knowing the names of little Wiltshire towns. "Alright, lovely." His voice was a little more strained now. "The American, do you remember his name, where he came from, what he did with the baby...?" He wrung his hands nervously, desperate for a scrap of a hint.

"I don't know."

"Records." Antoni spoke up, remembering at last the reason they'd actually traveled out all this way. "There must've been some sort of records, it was a hospital."

"Oh yes." Mrs. Hodges confirmed. "We had lots of records. We used to be very good at keeping them."

Azaera's eyes lit up and he clapped a little bit, which Antoni would always find adorable. "That's wonderful news! Do you know where they are?"

"Burned in the fire."

Antoni felt his stomach drop and twisted his ring about. They were no closer than they were before, except they knew that the boy was local, maybe. The whole trip had been an absolute waste of time that they could've used to be doing something useful. He almost felt irritated at his past self for not knowing. 

"Is there anything you remember about the baby, anything at all?" Azaera pleaded.

Mrs. Hodges' smile grew just a little more and she nodded. "He had lovely little toesie-woesies." 

Antoni cursed and felt like kicking something. They had nothing of any use whatsoever. Staring at a blank wall all day might've been more enlightening than the past few hours had been. The world was ending and they's wasted valuable time on stupid false leads and endeavors. He looked over at Azaera, who usually would've been cheered a little by the cute comment, and felt a faint tremble of fear grow. The poor demon was blaming himself for it, and Antoni knew he hadn't helped much by heaping the responsibility onto him whenever he mentioned a "we". In his defense, he had not been anywhere near the delivery of the Antichrist. Antoni was searching for a good thing to say to get them out, and the faint police sirens made themselves known right then and there.

"We'd best leave." He said gently to Azaera, who'd buried his face in his hands.

The demon nodded and collected himself. "Right, yes." He muttered, not even bothering to try for a smile. "Maybe we'll think of some other idea." Azaera walked back down the way they came, seemingly haven forgotten about Mrs. Hodges' frozen state. Antoni sighed and turned back to face her.

"You'll wake feeling rested and refreshed." He said, snapping his fingers. He turned to leave when Azaera called for him, and Mary Hodges came back to life feeling as if she'd had the best nap of her life. 

They walked in silence down the halls and out the door. There were police cars surrounding the area and cops questioning everyone who came within five feet of them. Most of the businesspeople were confused, and rightfully so. How were they supposed to know that the paintball guns would turn into actual guns halfway through the match? The cops wanted to investigate the whole place, and Mary Hodges came running out to settle everything down and make sure the police didn't do that. Azaera and Antoni walked through the chaos, completely unnoticed. 

"But still, there's got to be a way we can find him, right?" Antoni asked, ever the optimist. "I mean, I can sense love and such, and demonic energies, and you can sense angelic energies. Stands to reason one of us has got the Antichrist-sensing genes, right?"

"No, we can't." Azaera said. "He's got some sort of protective camouflage. I held him as an infant and it felt the same as a human would. So he'll just be like...any other human."

Antoni jerked his head to the right on instinct as he heard another gunshot go off in that direction. "Well, maybe that's just you. Maybe I got the Antichrist-sensing genes. Son of Satan, that's pretty fucking demonic."

"None of us can. He can sort of...warp reality, you know, so he can't be found by any sort of occult forces."

"Well what do you mean by 'occult'?" Antoni opened the door to his car and slid in, watching Azaera from the windshield. The demon clambered in on the passenger side and gave him a tired look.

"You know. You and I." He said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Antoni gasped as if scandalized, and he was, but only a little. "I am _not _occult. I am an angel and we are ethereal." He pulled out of the parking lot and drove off to bring them back home. Maybe they'd have more ideas, or they would just get drunk and cry together but anything would be better than this stupid Manor and all its stupid love. Little flashes of their _moment _kept flitting across his memory, and he shooed them away with a mental broom and told them to shove off. He would not be distracted while driving. The fact of it is, he isn't averse to being affectionate with Azaera, rather the opposite in fact. But he wanted it in private, where walls and ceilings and roofs and floors would keep them safe from prying eyes, where it could just be them in the moment. Not in public. 

"Ethereal, yes. You keep telling yourself that, love." 

~*~

Antoni had thought the love was just centered at the Manor, that maybe quite a few kids liked having birthday parties there or whatever it was. But as he drove more into Tadfield, he kept picking it up, like walking through the warm glow of a wood stove. Azaera didn't seem to be able to pick it up, which was natural. Demons lost that ability in the Fall, so he was never able to sense it. All the better for you, Antoni would tell him, too many things being bloody loved in this world, makes your head spin. But it was so strong here, he was honestly surprised the demon hadn't picked up _anything._

"It's the whole place that's loved." Antoni spoke, switching his highbeams back on. "I really don't know how you aren't getting this."

Azaera shrugged. "It's not like I've ever been able to."

"It's all over! Christ, I thought it was bad in that paintball place, feels like I'm boiling in it."

"Thou shalt not take the Lord's name in vain." Azaera teased, leaning his head on the window.

"Oh, shut up you-" 

There was a thud, a scream, some cracking, and the screeching of brakes. Antoni sat frozen for a moment, eyes wide and staring straight ahead.

"You hit someone." Azaera said helpfully, just as frozen.

"Shit, I hit someone!" Antoni almost flew out of his car, rushing to the side of the road to see the damage. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Azaera running his hand over the bonnet of the car and heard the metal creaking as it shaped itself back to normal. Lying just off the road was a woman, and her bike was farther away. She was dazed or unconscious or dead (that would be really bad), and her right arm was at all sorts of funny angels. The bike was pretty much just a tangle of metal at this point, and Antoni swallowed down the guilt and crouched next to her. He passed his hand over her broken arm and wincing at the cracking of the bones coming back together as she came back to herself. 

"Ugh." She groaned, patting around the ground for her pair of glasses. "My head hurts."

"That comes of being hit by a car." Antoni said, and offered a hand to help her back to her feet. "No bones broken, you're lucky there."

She took his hand warily, and glanced around her. "My bike..." She started, and Antoni hurried to fix it before she noticed how broken it had been.

"Must've been made of something strong, eh?" He said, circling around to pick it up for her. Since he was in a hurry and had not previously seen the bike, he made a few minor adjustments that had not been there. Gears, for one, which the woman immediately took notice of. She snatched the bike away from him, and wheeled it up a bit. She crouched down and started picking up all her equipment. A pair of dowsing rods, several pens, a notepad, an old book, a large kitchen knife, a pendulum, and a miniature telescope.

Antoni helped her load everything back into the basket at the front of it. "Think you'll be alright on your own?"

"We can't just let her ride home herself!" Azaera exclaimed, leaning on the passenger side of the car. "She might be concussed or something. Can we give you a ride, Ms...?" He smiled at the woman, ignoring Antoni's annoyed look.

"Anathema." She said warily, holding onto her bike as if it were her tether to this Earth. 

"Look, we can't give her a ride." Antoni argued at Azaera. "We've got nowhere to put the bike, for starters, and we've got absolutely no time."

"Did you forget about the bike rack?" Azaera said smugly, giving Antoni one of his trademark yes-I'm-trouble-but-you-love-me smiles, as Antoni's face fell when he heard a slight creaking and knew a bike rack had appeared. Probably covered in some garish pattern. 

The angel sighed and took the handle of Anathema's bike gently, an offer to put it on the rack himself. "Where to?" He asked as she let go of her death grip. 

Anathema shut the lid on the basket after she'd pulled her slightly dented kitchen knife and the book out of it. "To the village." She said. "I'll give you directions." She sat herself in the backseat and held the knife, ready to defend herself. She placed her old book on the edge of the seat next to her.

Antoni hooked the bike up and got into the driver's seat, casting a withering look Azaera's way. The demon just responded by turning Yellow Submarine up. 

A few minutes passed by, the silence only broken by Anathema's instruction to turn right or left, and Antoni was just getting used to the little arrangement when Anathema spoke up.

"Look." She said, leaning forward. "My bike. It didn't have gears. I know it didn't have gears. And now it does. Oh, left here."

Azaera snorted and folded his hands together as if to pray. "O Lord." He said quietly, almost singing it. "Heal this bike."

"Shut up, I didn't know what it looked like." Antoni hissed, taking his foot off the gas pedal to weakly kick Azaera in the shin. He'd just have to fix that when they got to Anathema's place.

Anathema, who was now thoroughly confused and worried, was quite relieved to see her rented house up ahead. "Right down there. You can drop me off out front."

When Antoni parked, he made a hasty jog to the back of the car before Anathema could get out and see the bike had gears. The bike rack was, as predicted, neon green with yellow stripes. Antoni rolled his eyes and waved a hand at the bike, and swept it down to the rack. The gears vanished and dispersed into their respective atoms, and the blinding pattern turned into a solid sky blue. Much better. Anathema made it to the back and took her bike down one-handedly, still holding onto the knife. 

"I don't see any gears." Antoni muttered, leaning down as if he were inspecting it. "Might've been seeing something, you know, from the knock on your head. You should get that checked out." 

"Right." Anathema said, not taking her eyes off of him for a second. She would've looked afraid if she didn't know she was intimidating with her knife.

Antoni nodded, getting into the role of a concerned and helpful stranger. "Concussions are a pretty serious thing. I would go to a doctor, tomorrow if you could." He would've continued, but the horn sounded suddenly, causing both to jump and turn around to the car. Anathema had her knife pointed out at it.

"Will you get a move on, love?" Azaera called, still laying it on the horn. Anathema, strangely enough, visibly relaxed, and put her knife in the basket. 

"Sorry about him, he's a pain in the ass." Antoni smiled fondly. "Goodnight then." He waved and stepped into his car, not driving away until he saw her safely inside.

~*~

Anathema chained her bike up by the fence and watched the headlights gradually fade around the corner. Any other night, she might've looked up at the stars and appreciated how lovely they were away from all the light pollution and noise of the city, but tonight she wasn't in a very good mood. So she just scooped up everything from the basket and kicked the door open. She felt justified in the bad mood. After all, she'd not found a single clue about the Beasts and also had gotten run over by a very weird couple. 

After she had put everything back in the proper place (she would never keep a messy household) and put a pot of canned chicken noodle soup on the stove, she fell into the kitchen chair and set up a video chat with her mother. It rang for a couple of moments before the screen lit up and showed her mother sitting on their living room couch.

"Hola, mi amor!" She said excitedly, and the imaged blurred a bit as Mrs. Device set her tablet on her table and reached for her mug of tea. "How's it going?" 

Anathema hated to kill the light in her mother's eyes, but she was nothing if not honest. "Lousy." She grumbled, and slumped back in her seat. "I got hit by a car."

"Are you alright?" Her mother cried out, worry consuming her every feature. 

Anathema nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I'm alright." She answered. "And I can't seem to find the great or lesser beast anywhere." She knew she was whining now, but it had been an entirely too long day and she was exhausted. 

"Have you used your pendulum?" 

"Mom, I'm not a kid! I know it's at the north end of the village here, I can tell. It's just that from too far I can't get an accurate reading, and too close gets it all messed up. There must be a sort of median distance, I just have to find it."

"The answers are always in the book, mi amor." Mrs. Device said, spouting back the only advice she knew to give. "Sometimes you don't see until afterwards."

"Yeah, the book." Anathema reached for the book on her right, only to hit table. Eyes widening in a panic, she felt around the entire table and still just felt table. Standing up, she did a quick search of the cottage, in case she misremembered bringing it along with her. But she had remembered correctly, and it wasn't in any of the usual spots she put it. The usual spot was always with her, she couldn't go anywhere without it, just in case, and of course there were the cards, but oh it wasn't the _same. _And then she froze in the living area, hearing only the blood rushing in her ears. That couple in the car. She must've left it in there. She ran back into the kitchen and pulled her boots on.

"Sorry Mom, talk to you later." She said hurriedly, jamming her finger on the end call button without waiting to hear what her mother might've said. Despite knowing the couple to be gone by now, far away probably, she still ran outside to check, to see if maybe they'd left the book outside the gate. Or in the garden. Or on the porch or in her bike basket or anywhere, but it wasn't in any of those places. Anathema bit her tongue as she felt the panic rise up inside of her. It was lost now. Lost forever. She had failed countless generations of Devices.

~*~

Antoni stared into his mug of mediocre coffee while he waited for Azaera to finish up with his cake. He'd been complaining about being hungry for the last ten minutes, so once Antoni saw a cafe that was open and didn't look roach-infested, he decided to treat his partner. It wasn't much of a deal for him, he always liked going out to eat with Azaera, even though he never ate much himself. But the demon adored all the decadent foods the world could offer, and, well, if it made Azaera happy, Antoni was happy to indulge him. This cafe was far from the nicest place they'd eaten at, and the florescent lights were driving him mad, but the coffee was alright and the waitress was nice. 

"I've been thinking." Antoni said, looking up from his coffee at last. "About how the Antichrist is hidden from us? We might get another human to do it. Humans have been finding other humans for the last forever, after all. The boy is half-human."

Azaera swallowed his bite of cake and shook his head. "Wouldn't do." He answered. "He's got a sort of...protection device thingy. Suspicion slides off him like...water off....off of whatever water slides off." Neither of them could think of what on Earth water might slide off. It turned out to be a lot of things, but none of them were correct. 

Antoni took a sip of his coffee and swallowed fast to escape the metallic taste of it. Definitely been sitting in the pot too long. "Well what, do you have any ideas?" He asked, staring down Azaera. "Any? Anything better? No?"

"Oh, you hush." Azaera grumbled. "I am trying to think of things." He looked genuinely upset by Antoni's little jabs, and the angel felt bad about teasing him. 

"I know you are." Antoni pulled a couple of bills from the air and caught the waitress's attention for the check. "Let's finish up here and we'll head back home, alright?"

They ended up buying another slice of cake for the road, and then they were off again. The further they went from Tadfield, the further the feelings of intense, powerful love faded. It left Antoni feeling chilled, like he'd exited a warm shower into a room with the window open. There were sure to be other loved things coming around, but it wasn't as strong. The pair sat in silence, Azaera switching stations every so often and Antoni lost in his own thoughts.

"There's something I should tell you." Azaera's voice came into the thoughts and ran them off. "I've got a sort of network of humans, highly trained, spread all over. Lovely folks, really." He folded his hands on top of the cake box. "I could have them look for the boy."

Antoni raised his eyebrows in relative surprise. This was the first he was hearing of this, but it wasn't like he was without secrets. "Oh, do you? I've got something like that too, now that you mention it. Human operatives."

Azaera smiled at him. "Well, isn't that a coincidence! Should they work together?"

"Eh...I don't think so." Antoni said. The truth was, the leader of his group of humans was an old Scottish Catholic man who was well on his way to senility. He'd never met the others, but he assumed they were like the Sergeant. "Not, um...sophisticated, really. I'm sure you wouldn't like them."

Azaera nodded in understanding. The man who ran his group was an old Scottish Catholic man who was well on his way to senility. The rest had awfully funny names like Milk Bottle and Cupboard and he wasn't sure if it was code names or what. "Mine aren't either. So, we'll send our respective troops out to search for the boy, and we can check in with each other. You do have such clever ideas, what would I do without you?"

There was a hesitation, then: "Ducks!"

"What about ducks?"

Antoni smiled from behind the wheel. "Water slides off ducks."

"Just focus on driving, will you?" Azaera sighed, watching as the landscape became more familiar. 

Tonight, Azaera's bus was parked outside of St. James'. Antoni walked him to the door, and then stayed for a few minutes to discuss the finer points of their plan and steal a bite of his cake. They exchanged their goodnights and Antoni drove back to his place, feeling much better than he had before. Finally, there was a plan. He felt like he was doing something useful for a change. On the mental promise to meet up with Shadwell in the morning, he pulled into his driveway. Antoni would've just went inside and gone right to sleep had something in the backseat not caught his eye. It was a very old-looking book, very fancy. He opened the door and pulled it out to look. 

"The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch" He muttered, flipping through the pages. "That lady must've left it." He made a mental note to drive back to the woman's cottage to bring her the book. It must've been expensive, just looking at the cover. Azaera would know for sure, he was the expert on old and rare books. Antoni silenced the bells on his door with a flick of the wrist and made a beeline to the door to his basement. His plants would survive without his affection for one night. Silence builds character, after all. That's what they said in Heaven. 

Antoni changed into comfortable pajamas and put some milk and chocolate on the stove to make cocoa. He needed to figure out the deal with this book. It looked important somehow, definitely some kind of heirloom. He opened up the cover to see if there was anything important on the first page, but there was only a child's drawing of a woman with colors around her. He chuckled, imagining how Azaera would react if he knew someone had drawn on such an old book. Antoni's cell phone was sitting on the coffee table, and he knew he should call Azaera. When he reached for his phone, however, something in the back of his mind stopped him. Something old and unused for centuries now, but still very much there. Slowly, Antoni sat back on the couch and opened the book. He could work this out himself. After all, he'd been having all the ideas lately. 

"Let's see what you've got, Agnes." He said, flipping the book open to a random page. He closed his eyes and let his finger drift towards a random prophecy. "Prophecy 3,008 it is. '_When the angel readeth these words of mine, in his home of the earth_'..." Antoni trailed off and thought for a moment. The greenhouse upstairs had plants, and the basement was under the ground. "Home of earth, that's a check for Agnes. '._..then the final days are certes upon us._' Another check. '_Open thine eyes to understand. Open thine eyes and read, I do say, foolish principalitee'_ Rude. '_for thy cocoa doth fill thine pot to excess_."

Antoni stared at the final line and furrowed his brow when he heard a bubbling sound from the kitchen. "Oh, shit!" He exclaimed, dropping the book and running in to see his cocoa had boiled over. He turned the heat off and stared at it, a little sadly, when the realization hit him. Agnes had gotten it right, even the stupid little detail of it boiling over. If it'd been vague enough, it could've been anything really to get him to believe it, but she knew. He laughed in a sort of giddy realization, that this book was exactly what he needed to find the Antichrist. He cooked up another pot of cocoa and made sure this one didn't get ruined. He was going to have a long night ahead of him.

Several hours later, he was jerked out of his reading by his phone buzzing on the table. Azaera. Antoni looked at the screen for a moment, a strange reluctance to answer creeping up in his gut. He answers anyway.

"Hello love!" Azaera says right away, far too awake for...Antoni checks. 5:14am. "You get any new insight on the Antichrist yet?"

Antoni hesitates and looks at the book in his lap. He should tell Azaera, he _knows _books. He would have this all dated, restored, and cataloged into the Dewy Decimal System before Antoni could think of blinking. "No, nothing, no leads." He spits out instead. He hates lying, leaves him feeling nasty, but the old instinct is back at it. "I'd tell you, you know. Don't you trust me?" And there it was, bringing trust into it.

"Of course I do." Came Azaera's confused reply. "I was just asking. I've got nothing either."

"Ah well. I hope you come up with something. You call your human guy."

"I will. I was thinking, did you want to go out to lunch later to-"

"Gotta run, darling, bye!" Antoni presses the button to hang up and gingerly places his phone on the table, daring it to ring again. Daring Azaera to wonder what on Earth is up with him. It doesn't. So, he goes back to reading. He picks up his pen and paper, which he's been doing all sorts of math and notes and connections on and goes back to his work

"Alright, alright. Prophecy whatever. _'The number of the beast is in the Revelayting of Saint John, call hym in Taddes Field. And ye will know hym by this sign, that when ye do call to him, the Lesser Beaste will walk upon his hinde legs like unto a dancing bear.'_" Antoni begins to write something, about Tadfield being where the Antichrist must be located (they were so close last night!), when a though wriggles up like a worm to rain. Saint John...number of the beast...

"Oh, this can't be that easy!" He mumbled and strode into his bedroom. He kept a Bible in the nightstand drawer, to give off the appropriate amount of holy energy should any angel visit, mostly. He blew off the dust, and flipped through the pages until he got to the Book of Revelations. He skimmed, looking for a specific quote, and lit up when he found it. "Count the number of the beast...there we are. For it is the number of a man and it is six hundred threescore and six." He almost laughed and put the book back into his drawer, where it wouldn't see light for another few decades.

"This can't be so easy, it's so stupid!" He exclaimed, lying down onto the couch and picking up his cell phone. First, he plugged in the Tadfield area code, then three sixes. He hesitated, finger over the green call button. He wasn't sure what to expect. Well, he expected whoever answered the phone to be very confused, but that was it. If he called, that would open so many gates that were closed and let him freely explore the information it provided. Again, he knew he should share this discovery with Azaera first. But the demon would want to go do something to the kid, shove him off a cliff or whatnot. It was, after all, Azaera who had suggested killing Warlock when they thought it was him. However, if he could get the information and let Upstairs know...there was the off chance that he would be able to finally do something right in their eyes, to make a grand speech about Earth and free will or something, and it would simply be cancelled. No more apocalypse, no violence, no death. Azaera would want to go after the boy. Antoni sucked in a deep breath and pressed the button.

It rang for an agonizing three seconds, then a man's voice on the other end. "Tadfield, oh-four triple six? Arthur Young here." Then, a younger and more distant voice, maybe in another room or outside: "Dad, come look! I got Dog to walk on his hind legs!"

Antoni sat in part horror and part triumph. He did it. He'd figured it all out, all on his own. Oh, he _knew _now, he could get something done. Remembering he was still on the phone, he started about five different sentences, and then just hung up. He dropped his phone on the table and stared in awe at the book. Agnes had known, she knew. And now he did, and he could really do something. He didn't need Azaera and his humans and his knowledge of books. He hadn't needed to know shit about this one to figure it out! And once he'd fixed everything, he and Azaera could get back to their life together, just as usual. No need to bring him into this, Antoni thought. No need at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone wants 2 comment on this,,,,,that's chill


	7. mesopotamia, 3004 bc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like the show, I now intend to interrupt the plot entirely to show you how in love these two idiots are over the span of several chapters because I originally intended to put it all in one huge fucking chapter but this needs to take up some of your time you know like that's the vibe I've gotta do here

Raphael stood tensely at the edge of the crowd. He didn't want to watch this, but he had been sent to Earth after the fiasco in Eden. Something about irony, he didn't pay much attention to the lecture. And now that he's here, all sorts of convenient little things for him to do have cropped up. Such as making sure all the animals made it onto the ark safely. Raphael really wasn't sure how just two of each species was going to repopulate the whole world, but it would probably be alright. Probably. He fidgeted with the sleeve of his plain brown robe and glanced at the sky. Storm clouds had been rolling in all day, reminding him of that day in Eden. But this time, the rains weren't a final mercy on the first humans. They were a death sentence for them all. 

Just as if thinking of Eden would summon him, the odd demon from the Eastern Gate shuffled through the crowd, mutterings of "excuse me, excuse me, sorry, pardon me" breaking through the quiet chatter. Raphael glanced over to see that same smiling face and white hair from all those years ago. He was the same, except this time he was wearing a dull blue. 

"Well, fancy running into you here." The demon said, as if they were old friends. "Thought I'd say hi. How did the whole flaming-sword-to-humanity thing go?"

Raphael shrugged, trying very hard to feel uneasy. It was hard to. "Not very well, actually. Turns out that baby grew up to be a host of trouble." He left out the part about him lying to God immediately after he'd done it. "Have you picked a name yet?"

"I have, actually. It's Azaera." The demon pointed out at the large boat in the distance. "What's all this, anyway? Some sort of travelling zoo? Won't get far, it's not even on water." 

Raphael switched from twisting his sleeve to his hair, nearly cutting off circulation in his finger where he wrapped it round. "Well, long story. From what I'm hearing from Upstairs, God's a little pissy. Gonna....She's planning on wiping out the human race." He gestured at the ever darkening storm clouds. "Lots of rain. Big flood." He stared straight ahead at a pair of camels walking their way up the path to avoid seeing Azaera's expression of absolute heartbreak. 

"You mean...everyone?" He asked breathlessly. "Everyone?"

"Just the locals round here, I think." Raphael said hastily. "I don't believe the Almighty's really upset at the others, they've been alright. I mean, if I were Her, I'd move the people from Australia and get rid of all those freaky animals, but who am I to judge."

"She might get angry at them all later."

"And...and, see, not even all the people round here, see the boat?" Raphael pointed desperately, as if the ark were his landline. "See, Noah and his family, they'll be fine, they've got animals."

Azaera didn't seem to be really paying attention. He was staring at a family off to the side, a mother, father, a little girl and a baby. The girl was excitedly babbling about the different animals and the big boat, while her father tried to name all of them for her. "They're all going to drown." The demon said flatly.

"Well...broadly." Raphael avoided the demon's eyes. He knew if he looked, his already fragile self restraint would crumble and he might just say it out loud, that he was grieving for humanity too, that he wanted to stave off the rains and wouldn't even care what the other angels thought of it. But just thinking it was blasphemy enough, and if She hadn't heard it just from his mind, then his voice would make it real. 

"Oh, not the kids." Azaera stepped in front of the angel and forced him to look. "Tell me She isn't cruel enough to murder children, at least."

Raphael glanced at the ground and shuffled his feet. "You have to figure out eyelids at some point."

"Don't change the subject. This is evil, this is going to massacre so many innocent people. You know it's wrong. Why are you just standing by and letting it happen?" Azaera demanded. The volume of his voice attracted more than a few stares and Raphael hushed him awkwardly. 

"Look, look, She has her reasons." He whispered. "It isn't my job to question it. And anyway, after it's done, the Lord is going to make a whole new thing, a 'rainbow' they say. A promise to not...drown the human population....a second time." His excuses fell flat and he knew it, but he wasn't going to start agreeing with a _demon _of all beings. This was his temptations at work again, pulling him away from his faith and Her ineffable love. He wouldn't have it.

Azaera looked like he was starting to say something, but he fell silent. "You stay here if you want." He said cooly, angrily. "I'm going to see if I can save any perfectly innocent lives while I can." He glared at Raphael, and the angel was afraid of the demon for perhaps the first time since they met. Without another word, he stalked back off into the crowd, his fury rippling off him in waves.

Raphael was almost grateful when the rain started falling. He could finally let his tears flow and no one would stare. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments would be really appreciated, doesn't have to be much
> 
> This is short but there isn't much to this scene. The unicorn still runs away, but the two are too distracted to notice it happening rip unicorn


	8. golgotha, 33 ad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Antoni goes through approximately 3938783944 different name changes throughout history

Azaera had forgone his newly very colorful wardrobe for a more traditional black for the occasion. That very sweet young man, Jesus of Nazareth, was being crucified and he felt it would be almost distasteful not to go. He'd known Jesus, very smart young man, lots of ideas about the world that could've helped people. If only he had a bit more faith in himself and less in Her, he'd still be alive. There wasn't much in the way of a crowd now that the crucifixion had gotten underway, but he remained. He forced himself to watch, despite the blood and the choked prayers and screams. 

"Come to laugh at him, have you?" A faintly familiar voice came from his right. Azaera turned to see that red-haired angel from Eden and the flood, and he would have smiled at the familiar face. 

"Hello to you too, Raphael." Azaera felt a bit proud for getting the name right. "Do I really look like I'm having a good time?"

The angel took a long look at him, as if to determine if he was secretly having a ball, then sighed and turned to Jesus. "No, you don't."

"Besides, it's your people that made him do this."

"What, you think I came here for fun? Besides, Raphael isn't my style anymore."

Azaera looked at the angel with a mild interest. Finally, he was making choices. "What is your style nowadays?"

"I like Micah." The angel said, quietly, hesitating, as if Heaven could hear him from all the way down here. "I don't know if it'll stick, and if it's a hassle you can keep with Raphael, I wouldn't-"

"Micah's a nice name." Azaera gave him a soft smile and Micah seemed to relax a little.

"Did you ever meet him?" Micah asked, fiddling with the end of his sleeve.

Azaera nodded, pushing down his tears. Demons shouldn't cry over lost human lives. "I did. Very smart young lad, helped a lot of people." He paused, unsure of how the angel would react to the next part to his story. "I showed him all the kingdoms of the world, once."

Micah raised an eyebrow but thankfully did not fly off the handle. "Why?"

_Because I wanted to save him. Because I saw he could do some good in this world. Because he was barely a man, still so young. Because why should anyone follow the orders of an absent Father to their death? Because that's too much to ask of anyone. Because he hadn't done a thing wrong, just questioned the status quo and people hate anybody who has a different idea of how things should go. Because that's all it is really, just a difference in ideas. Because believing differently isn't a crime, or shouldn't be. _"It isn't like he gets out much."

The angel nodded, discreetly wiping tears from his eyes as the cross was lifted and gravity had its turn in harming the young man impaled to it. The pair of them stayed until the only people to remain with them were Jesus's family, and it was at this point that Azaera felt as if he were encroaching on something sacred, a pure moment he shouldn't see. He was sure, if he were still an angel, he would be able to feel the love of that small family from a mile away. 

"I'd best be off." Azaera whispered, feeling as if it were sure sacrilege to raise his voice. "I'm renting a room at that inn, just down the road actually, so I'm there if you need me." He turned to go when Micah didn't acknowledge him, and got a few paces before he felt a hand at his shoulder. 

"Let me walk you." Micah said, suddenly by his side. He removed his hand and Azaera felt a sudden type of loss. "Can't ever tell what type of people are out at these hours."

Azaera made a noise of agreement and they both started down the road again. It was a quiet walk, broken by the occasional person passing by, or an animal or bug scuttling about. The inn came into view and Azaera wanted to say he'd be fine from here, thank you very much, see you around, but he didn't. Some force or other was keeping his mouth shut, and when he sat on the bench outside of his inn for a spot of stargazing (he loved the stars, never could remember why), Micah joined him. 

"I'm sorry for how I was. At the ark." Azaera said at last. And he was sorry, he hadn't meant to snap at the angel, and he knew how Heaven operated. It was just...all those people. "Quite rude of me."

Micah just shrugged. "Don't apologize. It was a reasonable reaction." This was his own way of saying the demon was right, a sort of workaround just short of saying the actual words, and Azaera understood.

They didn't speak for a minute more and Azaera was just about to think he should head inside when the angel spoke up again. 

"He died for them, you should know." Micah looked at him with a sort of pleading, sort of desperate expression. "He's died for humanity's sins. They can be forgiven once they die. It wasn't just because God said so."

"So it's my fault then." Azaera said gloomily. "All because of Eve and that stupid apple and stupid Original Sin. And She holds a grudge for so much longer than necessary, She's killed them all for Pete's sake! Isn't that enough? She ought to be mad at me instead of everyone." 

Micah opened his mouth as if to say something, possibly to argue, but he shut it with a sigh. "You get to bed." He said. "I'll be off." He pushed himself off the bench and left without turning back once. Azaera watched him until he was gone and then went inside. 

"Why've you been so upset with the humans?" He whispered to God once he was safely alone in his room. "Eve and the apple was my fault, you could've struck me down and that'd have solved it. You've drowned them all. Isn't killing them all enough for you? Must another one die because you can't forgive innocent people for a crime they've never committed? You loved them once. What happened?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway catch me going ex catholic in Azaera's prayer


	9. rome, 41 ad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is where Azaera just goes head over heels for this smartass angel

Azaera hadn't been planning to be in Rome long. He _had_ been assigned a job to do, and to be quite honest he didn't see what else he could do to that Caligula to make him any worse, so he gave up after a day and went off exploring the luxuries of the city. He'd loved the aqueducts the most, and the architecture. Humans never stopped amazing him with the things they would think up. Another thing he was really getting into was food. Even though he was only in Rome for a little while, he'd discovered many wonderful ways a person can cook up a fish. And to think, not so far back they were just roasting it over the fire pit. Azaera was planning on leaving tomorrow. Maybe find one last good meal in this place and head off to somewhere else, somewhere new. Staying in one place never suited him well, it got quite boring after a fairly short while. 

He was just passing by a small tavern, peering in to see if it looked good, when he caught a flash of familiar flame-red hair. The angel, Micah, was sitting at the bar in one of his usual blue outfits, and his hair was much shorter. Azaera smiled at the coincidence and the familiar face when he noticed something was definitely wrong. The angel's hair was cut unevenly as if he'd been in a hurry, and even from a distance there was a visible melancholy in his expression. Azaera decided that wouldn't do at all and strode through the tavern and made his way to the bar. 

"Well, Raph-no, Micah!" Azaera said cheerily, making Micah jump and whirl around. "Funny seeing you around so soon, hm?" He sat down next to him and gestured at the cup Micah was cradling with his hands. "What've you got in there?"

Micah blinked a couple of times and looked down as if he'd forgotten. "Just the house wine. You want a cup?" Before Azaera could answer, Micah waved the bartender down and procured a cup for the demon. He poured Azaera a cup and slid it over. "What brings you to Rome?"

"Well, I was sent here to tempt Emperor Caligula, something regarding politics. But," Azaera sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. "I don't believe he needs any Hellish influences to be any more horrendous, to be quite frank. So, I've been mostly being a bit of a tourist." Azaera smiled, not touching his cup, somehow deciding to focus only on the angel. "What brings you?"

Micah shrugged and drained his own wine. "Supposed to help this Nero boy not be a shit, I suppose. I got him into music, good for kids to have hobbies. He'll probably turn out alright." Micah lifted his eyes to meet Azaera's and the demon felt a strange jolt. "So, anything good around town? I've not done much."

"I _have_ started on the eating trend." Azaera's eyes lit up and he scooted his seat closer to Micah's. "I do really love it, the humans are so clever when it comes to their foods! You should try it some time, if you haven't. You know that Petronius, he's got a restaurant up now. The things that man does to oysters!" He made a little "mm!" noise and wiggled contentedly. 

Micah raised his eyebrows. "I've not had an oyster." 

Azaera gasped, as if it were somehow a great shock to him, as if it were the worst type of sin. "Oh, you must! I should treat you one of these days, they're simply _divine_!"

"Didn't realize you knew what divinity tasted like."

"Very funny, you're such a jokester." Azaera felt strange about this sudden comfort with the other. Sure, he'd never felt awkward or odd around Micah, he'd always spoken his mind. But this teasing was new, this sitting and drinking together like old friends and not mortal enemies was very new. He loved it. 

Micah smiled faintly for just a second and refilled his cup. "If I'm the only one drunk, I will feel incredibly awkward." He gestured at Azaera's still unacknowledged cup. "I'm being all-loving or whatever they want me to be." 

Azaera smiled with concern in his eyes and promised himself he'd stay sober, at least tonight. "Well, if you insist." 

~*~

The sun was ending its dip below the mountains when the angel starts crying. 

"I can't do anything for them, you know." Micah sniffs, stumbling over his words. "The...the humans. I can't, not ever."

Azaera pat Micah's hand in sympathy, not knowing the boundaries of their affections yet. "I understand. I shouldn't get upset at you for it. How about I walk you to your place?" He'd been trying to get the angel to leave for centuries now, and all attempts went ignored.

"With Cain and Abel, I think I threw up." Micah muttered, resting his cheek in his hand. "Gave 'em the sword so the baby'd be ok, and the baby invented murder." He wiped tears away and reached for the jug of wine, which Azaera had slid out of his reach about five drinks ago. 

"If you hadn't done it, there wouldn't be humans, probably. It was the right thing to do."

"The Flood was the right thing to do, too." Micah's sad eyes lit up with a small flame of anger. "And...and Jesus. All of it, that's all Good. That's what they all say, that it's all part of the stupid Divine Plan. All Good, the murder of everybody. And then making them pay for something they've not even done. I wish I'd Fallen." He looked almost sober now, piercing eyes sending ice directly down Azaera's spine. "Then...then it all wouldn't be me. I wouldn't be with them and I could say, oh, that's bad, that isn't Good, that Divine Plan's absolute shit." 

Azaera gently wrapped an arm around Micah's shoulders and lead him down from the bar. "Let's get to your place." He said softly. 

Micah whined and went limp, becoming a dead weight on Azaera's arm. "Don't wanna."

"Well, we're going. I think they're closing soon, anyways." This was a lie, as more people kept trickling in, but Micah didn't need to know that. "Where are you staying?" 

Instead of just telling him, Micah dragged Azaera along down the street, tripping over nothing and stopping often. It was a bit of an issue, that, but Azaera didn't dare remove his arm to steady himself. He told himself it was only because the angel would concuss himself without the support, but he was starting to suspect that was a lie. There was a very odd emotion he'd been having since he met Micah today, a feeling that made him want to stay in Rome longer if Micah was, a sort of warm flush all over when those golden eyes were fixated on him. If he had time and the desire to do so, he could write all sorts of poetry about it, like Sappho had done, and Catullus, but he had neither of those things, and even if he had he'd butcher it if he wanted to put it to words. All sorts of things could Azaera ruin if he wanted to speak them. 

"Gonna have my hair long again." Micah spoke up suddenly. "I liked it long."

"Why'd you cut it?" Azaera asked, adjusting his stance. 

The angel shrugged and continued stumbling forwards. "Dunno. They got it in their stupid heads, Up Top, they like it short. I don't, but I cut it." There's a silence for a moment, before Micah points up at the now dark sky and smiles. "Stars. I made some." He says proudly.

"I've always loved stars." Azaera comments, because it is true. He's always thought of them as one of the most beautiful natural things out there. What a wonder they were, even though he didn't understand them, or because of it. 

Micah made a content "hm" sound and continued being quiet. Micah was less sad, which made the night less sad. As they walked down the uneven cobble roads, Azaera could hear people talking, laughing, playing music, and he could almost forget that their place in the world was any different from the others walking down the same street. It seemed to him, suddenly, that he and Micah were the most ordinary people there could ever be, and once he had felt that he wanted to feel it constantly. 

"Right, 'm here." Micah pulled away to the doorway of a little inn, and smiled at Azaera. "Bye bye." He waved and went inside. Azaera was sure he'd be alright on his own in there, it was just an inn and it wasn't like he could get himself killed in there. Something in him wanted to follow Micah in and something else wanted him to run as far as he could. 

What he did instead, was turn back around and make up his mind to go to Petronius's tonight instead of something nice. He was sure he'd be in Rome just a few days longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read Catullus's 16th poem, it's not one of the romantic ones but it gave me a good chuckle. And all of Sappho's because they give you seem Feelings


	10. the kingdom of wessex, 537 ad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Antoni says "fuck my job" except his name is Solomon

Solomon had never been particularly excited about job assignments after the whole Jesus ordeal, but this game of knights that the archangels seemed to delight in forcing him into was a new low. Wearing heavy armor and clanking about humid, foggy forests all day, and worst off was hanging out with the Knights of the Round Table, who are either unbearable self-righteous or unbearably disgusting. Get a group of men together for long enough and they'll go back to cavepeople, Solomon always says. He excludes himself because, technically, he is not a man. But today they've sent him off to fight the Black Knight, far too early in the morning, and still damp. Makes his armor rusty and even more horrible to be in than it is normally. _And _they made him wear a stupid cape. Ridiculous, the whole thing was absolutely ludicrous. Apparently these days, one must fight and kill to spread peace and harmony. 

He slid off his horse with a clang and pressed the reins into someone else's hands. He lifted the visor from his face so he could have some semblance of vision and squinted into the fog. "Hello?" He called into the mist. "It's me, Sir Solomon of the Table Round. I'd like to fight the Black Knight or something or other, suppose we'd just sit down to tea instead." He trailed off at the end and rolled his eyes. He was honestly done pretending he had any sort of interest in his assignments these days, because if he was to be honest, if Gabriel wanted a game of knights, he could very well get in the armor and be a fucking knight. 

There was a shuffling sound a few feet in front of him, and a haggard looking man stepped forward and beckoned him forward. "Right, thanks." Solomon said as he stepped forward. "You deserve a bloody raise." All of a sudden, the man believed he did in fact, deserve a raise. In fact, he believed he deserved to be paid. He made a mental note to chat with the Black Knight about it after this lovely fellow had gone. 

Solomon watched wearily as a man in pitch black armor came clanking his way out of the fog. He'd have thought the Black Knight might've been a bit taller, but hey, who's to say being short doesn't have its advantages?

"You have sought the Black Knight, foolish one." Came a familiar and slightly uncomfortable voice from under the helmet. "But you have found your death." He straightened himself up, trying to seem more intimidating.

Solomon thought for a second. Then it hit him. "Azaera? That you?"

Azaera lifted the visor of his helmet and looked like he might just melt from relief. "Oh, Micah, thank Satan it's just you." He laughed, letting his imposing posture slip away. "You've no idea how ridiculous this job is."

"It's Solomon now, didn't you hear me yelling?" Solomon asked, crossing his arms with some difficulty. "Plus, how didn't you just see me?"

"It's this helmet." Azaera rapped on it with his knuckles and shrugged. "You've quite got to be right in front of me and yelling if you want to be acknowledged." Suddenly, he seemed to remember his little troupe and shot a hasty smile at them, reassuring the men that this new shiny knight was not an enemy and they'd just like to chat a bit.

Solomon smiled at yet another sheer coincidence. "Anyway, I know all about the job being ridiculous. What are you supposed to be doing?"

"The usual. Spreading chaos and dissent and such. King Arthur and his boys have been being too nice lately, and, well, the bosses say, 'Azaera why don't you go be a knight?'" Azaera shrugs and laughs. "Anyway, I assume you're doing the usual good?"

Solomon shifts his weight to be slightly more comfortable and sighs. "Yeah, suppose. Odd way of doing it, I say. They told me to go be a knight and I asked if I couldn't just run a nice apothecary for a while. They say I've got to make a big damn impression or whatever." He shrugged his heavy cape off and let it sit on the ground. "If you ask me, they just want a show up there."

Azaera cast a mildly distressed glance at the white fur cape, now collecting dirt and clasped his hands behind his back. "Yes, well. That's just how it's done."

Suddenly, Solomon felt as if a great wall had just been felled in his mind. He laughed a little bit and smiled. "It doesn't have to be." He said. "We could just...not do this."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I hate this. I know you hate this. And besides, the grand sum total of good or evil we're producing is zero! We're cancelling each other out!" He's pacing around, and knows he probably sounds mad, but to be fair, it's a very good idea. "Look, we could just stay home, write our reports as if everything is going as normal, and the end result would be just the same!"

Azaera glanced at the ground and worried his lip. "Yes, well. Yes." He started. "But if Hell finds out, oh they'll be quite mad with me. And surely you'd get into trouble with Heaven too! I refuse to do something that would get any of us in trouble."

"Oh, you're a demon, what do you care if I'm in trouble?" Solomon teased carelessly, and ignored the (surprisingly) hurt expression on Azaera's face. "We're just out here in silly costumes doing things we hate and not achieving anything, actually. What do you say? Stay in tomorrow?" 

There was a great deal of conflict going on in Azaera's mind, made evident by his shifting expressions. Relief one second and concern the next. The demon was always concerned about _something,_ which seemed unbecoming of a demon, just a bit. Solomon would never mind it, but he worried. 

"I can't." Was the final verdict. "Look, it'll just be more trouble than it's worth if either of our sides gets wind of it, so I would rather this conversation ended now." Azaera turned away and stormed off into the fog. 

"For the record!" Solomon shouted at the rapidly vanishing demon. "I'm going to open an apothecary!" There was no response from Azaera, and yet Solomon stood in the foggy, wet weather for longer than he needed to. Just in case he came back with the sudden realization that it was a wonderful idea and that they could go to some restaurant together and laugh about having ever played along with their boss's shit. But he didn't, and Solomon, feeling oddly upset, turned and went back to rejoin his men. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this whole flashback sequence, I had an introduction to it, but I forgot to put it so now it's just out of nowhere I guess
> 
> Also you ever get that feeling when ur trying to hard to remember smth and it just Comes to u out of nowhere, that is that "like a great wall was felled in his mind" emotion


	11. the globe theatre, london, 1601

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Antoni is now Emmanuel. 
> 
> Also they are officially married now yeehaw

Emmanuel knew he was late for the showing of Hamlet this afternoon, but then again, he'd not really wanted to go. Of course, he didn't tell Azaera that because Azaera adored anything that Shakespeare wrote. Emmanuel just wanted to maybe take a walk with him to have their discussion, but his partner had said something about blending in with crowds and not being overheard, and he'd said something about it being rude to talk in a theater and was told to shut up. But still, he humored his partner in this and bought a ticket to the play. He'd honestly not heard much about it, so there wasn't a lot of expectation going into it. Only that it must be decent enough if Azaera liked it. 

When he finally arrived, he understood exactly why no one had told him anything about the play. Nobody was there. The man himself, Shakespeare, was of course, along with a lady selling food and an audience of exactly six people scattered around about the theater. There was a sense of privacy with so few people, and the actor's lines echoed off of the walls. Emmanuel almost felt like he was intruding on something and didn't want to enter. But enter he did, and made sure that nobody was going to be staring at him. The good part about such a small crowd was that he could very easily spot Azaera, standing in the center of the floor in some explosion of colored fabric, eyes glued to the stage and popping a grape into his mouth every here and again. Emmanuel smiled a little bit and made his way over.

"I thought you said something about crowds, love." He teased, and delighted in how Azaera rolled his eyes and suppressed a smile.

"That was the plan, but I suppose it's not as popular as I anticipated." He shrugged and popped another grape into his mouth. "Would you like one?"

Emmanuel shook his head and turned his attention to the actor on stage. He must've been good or else he wouldn't have been picked for the role, but it honestly sounded as if he were reading off a script still. "Why do you like this one so much, isn't it supposed to be depressing?"

"Well, yes, it's a tragedy." Azaera said, not taking his eyes off the stage. "But it's just that that makes it so good. Poor Hamlet is near mad with grief over his father's death, and you do just want to hug him."

"I don't."

"Of course _you _don't, you brute." Azaera bumped their shoulders together playfully and finally cast his attentions on Emmanuel. "All I mean is I enjoy it immensely."

"You might just be the only one." Emmanuel said. "The place is fucking packed." He swept his arms around the empty theater to prove the point. 

Azaera glared at him with no real force behind it. He glanced over Emmanuel's shoulder and his bright eyes widened. "Shush, he's coming over-why, hello there Will!"

Emmanuel whipped around and smiled awkwardly in the presence of the approaching William Shakespeare. Evidently Azaera knew the man, which wasn't that surprising given his love of reading since the novel was invented. As for himself, he'd never made much of an effort to keep up with literary news, although being closer to Azaera meant he often learned things about new plays or books or what this author said to another much against his will. He always said gossip was the devil's work and Azaera would say that's just why he keeps up with it and continue with the story. Emmanuel never minded, if he were to speak honestly. 

Shakespeare smiled at Azaera and nodded courteously at Emmanuel. "Prithee, gentles. Might I request a small favor?" He asked, clasping his hands together. "Could you, as the audience, give us a little more to work with?"

Azaera nodded enthusiastically. "Like when Hamlet didn't stab Claudius in the church and I said, 'Oh, just kill him already!'?" His bright blue eyes were twinkling happily behind his glasses and Emmanuel was almost jealous of the world, for he had to share that joy-filled look on his face with it. 

"Just so! That was jolly helpful, made everyone on the stage feel appreciated." Shakespeare nodded again and took his leave, gesturing at the actor on stage. "Good Master Burbage, please, speak the lines trippingly."

The actor sighed and leaned down to be closer to the playwright. "I am wasting my time up here." He griped, and to be honest, the poor boy probably was. 

"Oh, no, you're doing wonderfully! I love all the...the talking!" Azaera encouraged him on. 

"And what does your friend here think?" The actor gestured at Emmanuel, giving him a look that communicated that the both of them were in agreement of the shittiness of the play. But it's not as if Emmanuel could say that, could he?

Azaera gave a sly little glance up at Emmanuel while he was finding the proper answer for the situation. "I wouldn't say that 'friend' communicates the relationship most accurately." 

Emmanuel chuckled and bumped his shoulder into Azaera's. "I say you should get on with the play, you're really doing wonderfully."

Shakespeare shoots a grateful look their way. "Yes, Burbage, from the top please!" An audible groan was heard from the small audience, but the actor did as he was told. 

"He is very good, isn't he?" Azaera asked, obviously admiring of his talent. Emmanuel couldn't see it, the boy was clearly unenthusiastic about the role he was playing. But he wouldn't burst his partner's bubble with his opinions. 

"Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety." Emmanuel quipped, coming up with something that sounded just the tiniest bit pretentious, a little joke. Neither angel nor demon noticed a certain playwright scribbling down furiously on a sheet of paper. "That little joke about our relationship wasn't funny. You know how people are and you know how Above is."

"William understands, he's a friend." Azaera said. "But I understand, I won't do it again, love. Anyway, what did you want?"

Emmanuel smiled and loops his arm through Azaera's. "Now, why ever might you think I want something other than watching this wonderful play with you. How dare you. I am offended." 

"You _said _you wanted to talk. What was it about, you absolute _loon_?" Azaera ignored the dirty looks they were getting from the very, very few patrons that had come to watch the play.

Emmanuel shrugged and twisted his ring around his finger. "I was just thinking. You know I've got to be in Edinburgh for that festival end of the week, do some blessings. Got to ride a damn _horse _to get there, all in the paperwork. Head Office must be bored. And you said you were up in the area around that time?"

Azaera nodded, the playfully happy expression dropping to a more serious one. "Yes, doing some tempting. Got to make some clan leader steal some cattle for whatever reason. I just think that Downstairs thinks I'm incompetent. So what about it?"

"They should give you more credit, you do lovely work, although technically I'm supposed to despise it." Emmanuel dodged the question. He enjoyed teasing the demon far more than actually bringing up their little cooperation scheme. 

"You're supposed to despise _me_, in general." Azaera replied dryly. "What did you want to bring up?" 

Straight to the point, he was. "I was thinking we could put our arrangement into motion again. Just one of us will go up and do both jobs. I know you don't like it, but it'll just be such a hassle, won't it?" Emmanuel gripped a little at Azaera's bright red sleeve. He always worried about Azaera's reaction, even though it was a regular occurrence to almost everything involving the two of them, even their new relationship. Azaera had been worrying away the days, wondering if they ought to make anything officially legal at all and just go on with it in their own way. But in the end, he was glad they'd done it and Emmanuel knows it's no different for things like the arrangement

"You know what would happen if Heaven found out, darling." Azaera said. "You take so many risks already, why must we do this? Hell doesn't _care _what I do, I've said a million times they think I'm a bumbling idiot, they don't care. But Heaven cares about _you_ and they're very harsh, I'd know."

Emmanuel rubbed the little patch of arm he was holding onto in a small attempt at comfort. "Nobody's found out anything so far." He murmured into Azaera's ear. "I doubt they ever will. Come on, it'll avoid such a problem. I'll toss you for Edinburgh."

There was a hesitation, a shaky exhale, and Azaera nodded. "Alright, fine." He sighed. "I've got heads." 

Emmanuel smiled brightly and fished a coin out of his pocket. He flipped it and pressed it to the back of his hand. "Oh, bad luck." He said, uncovering it. "Tails. You're off to Scotland."

"How grand." Azaera griped, crossing his arms and focusing on the stage.

Shakespeare and the vendor were well across the theater, but the crowd was so few and the noise was so minimal that the pair could easily hear him complaining. "It's been like this every performance, Juliet. A total dud." He cried, shaking his head. "It'd take a miracle to get anyone to come and see Hamlet."

Emmanuel knew what was coming before it did. Azaera turned to him and gave him such a hopeful look, and how could anyone resist it? That man could get a person to kill for him with just those eyes if he wanted them to. Emmanuel nodded and gave a fake-exasperated sigh.

"Alright, fine, that's on me." He smiled. "Just for you."

Azaera's eyes lit up, and Emmanuel knew that once they were in the privacy of one of their homes, the demon would be all over him. But for now, in public, he settled for an overwhelmingly joyful look and arranging his head to rest on Emmanuel's shoulder. The angel almost protested it, saying it was far too _exposed_, too ceiling-less for such activities, but. Well. William was a friend. He certainly wouldn't tell anyone. And it's not like anyone else particularly cared, so. He would allow it, for now. Next time, he'd surely say something or other about it, but he was just in a certain mood today. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elizabethan era fashion was literally terrible so Azaera doesn't even have to make an effort to wear the ugliest shit


	12. paris, 1793

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all don't mind Antoni's pov happening all the time in these flashbacks, it's just cuz half the time his thoughts are more interesting to me. He goes through a lot of wacky development in his relationships with Heaven and Azaera and I like to explore it through his thoughts rather than an outsider pov (Azaera). We will get Azaera pov as we go along (specifically the last two of the flashbacks and the bandstand scene from what I've planned), but for now, you're stuck with the smartass angel

Charlie was certain there were several misunderstandings leading up to this, most of all his misunderstanding of anything said to him. All he'd wanted to do was pop across to France to visit the gardens at Versailles for some inspiration for his greenhouse he was opening up and had gone and gotten himself arrested. How was he to know they were having a social revolution in France? Of course, he'd tried to explain that he was just a tourist passing by and that he could honestly just leave immediately, but his French is lacking to put it politely, and here he was in the dungeons of the Bastille. Not quite where he wanted to spend his afternoon but it's not like he'd had anything to do for the rest of the day. Getting discorporated would be a real inconvenience what will all the forms you had to fill out about how exactly you lost the last body and what you'd like for the new one, yadda yadda. But it wasn't like he could just _leave _either, Heaven had been restricting miracles ever since an incident a few hundred years ago, caused some sort of inflation up Above. Charlie really hadn't paid attention to the story in the newspapers (but there was a very interesting debate he followed for a while, about the moral implications of farming). All he knew was it was another way Heaven was currently fucking up his life. 

He was doing some quick mental maths about how using a miracle to undo his shackles would impact the rest of his year before they got renewed when the cell door swung open with a loud creak. He gave a noncommittal glance upwards at the bearded man in revolution garb who had entered. 

"Ah, la chanson de la lame et la joie de le peuple." The man said, looking out the one small window that looked out on the guillotine. "Magnifique, non? Maintenant, laissons-nous inspecter votre cou." He took a step behind Charlie and put his rough hands on his neck. Charlie shot off of the stool and stood a few paces away.

"No!" He shouted, as if at a misbehaving puppy. "Uh, non, I mean! Listen, Monsier, uh...pouvez-vous parler l'anglais?" 

The man nodded and chuckled. "Yes, I speak English." He said in a heavy accent. He paused, listening to another rush of the guillotine blade and the thump it produced as it cut off another person's head. Charlie flinched at it and the man sighed in contentment.

"Listen to it, the fall of the guillotine blade." He spoke reverently. "Is it not terrible?"

Charlie nodded frantically. "Yes, terrible! I mean, just slicing off a bunch of people's heads, I don't even know _why_, nobody has informed me just exactly _what _the shit is going-"

The man held up a hand to cut him off and shot him a stern glare, one that made Charlie think that if he kept it up, his execution might take a few tries. "That is Pierre. An amateur." He made a vague gesture out the window as the crowd started cheering again. "Always he lets go of the rope too soon." He chuckled, as if murder was funny. "You are lucky that it is I, Jean-Claude, who will remove your traitorous head from your shoulders."

"Look, I've not betrayed anybody." Charlie held up his hands and winced at the harsh scrape of chains on stone floor. "I'm not even from here, I just wanted to visit."

Jean-Claude shook his head and smiled, as if Charlie were simply a naughty child. "I do not think you will get out of this very easy. But, I have very good news! It will not be painful for you, as you are my nine hundred and ninety-ninth aristo to die at the guillotine by my hands!" He bragged, evidently proud of himself. "But the first Englishman." He reached once again for Charlie's neck, to size it up, see how large of a collar he'd need.

Charlie, once again, jumped out of the executioner's reach, as far as his chains would allow it. For now, at least, Jean-Claude was content to listen to the slice of the blade and the cheers for blood coming from the crowd. He huffed and smoothed down his clothes. He'd gotten all dressed up for Versailles and now the outfit would get bloodstains all over. What a mess. "Really, this is a big mistake. Huge inconvenience for me." He gave it his best shot at a last attempt for a peaceful resolution. "It'll be an absolute nightmare for me, all the paperwork, and that's just that for starters." 

Jean-Claude rose his arms and opened his mouth to speak once more, but his words never came. He froze up completely. A quick glance to the window told Charlie that the guillotine was motionless as well. A sudden wave of new demonic energy washed over him and he smiled without so much as a look over his shoulder. There was only one demon out there who would give enough of a damn about him. "I tell you, these people are animals." He said to the wall in front of him.

"Well, animals don't invent head-cutty machines to kill each other, love, that's all people." Azaera's warm voice floated across the room and Charlie couldn't help his smile from growing. It really had been too long. He turned around, completely ready to kiss his demon senseless and pop on out so they could go have lunch somewhere, and instantly recoiled when he saw the state of him.

"Oh, good lord!" Charlie cried, raking his gaze up and down Azaera's outfit. "Is...is that _blood _on your shirt?" A wave of concern that Azaera might've gotten hurt in the crazy state of turmoil France was in rose up in him.

"Listen, I had to time to dry clean it, and it's not as if the guy was needing it anymore anyways." Azaera grinned from his perch on the cell's window ledge. Now Charlie was concerned about his partner taking clothes off corpses, but that was a worry for a different time. "What are you doing locked up here anyway, dressed like that? Didn't you know the peasants are rising up against the aristocracy?"

Charlie sat sharply back down on his stool and glared. "_No_, I did _not _know that since no one bothered to tell me that. I just got a bit busy with the greenhouse and forgot the read the paper, that can't be a crime."

"Oh, how is the greenhouse? I haven't heard from you since you started!" Azaera pouted.

Charlie laughed despite the situation. He figured everything would be alright now. "It's been going well, just need to figure out where I'll live." He held out his shackled hands to Azaera. "Could you lend a hand?" 

Azaera quirked an eyebrow at him. "Why can't you do it yourself? How'd you even get in this mess?"

"Heaven's been on our asses about overuse of miracles. They've restricted them." Charlie sighed. "And it doesn't really matter how I'm here, I'd like to not be."

"You wanted to see the gardens, didn't you." Azaera said it like it was a fact, not a question. He smiled and clicked his fingers. The shackles fell away with a loud clanging sound.

"Maybe I did. I mean, I knew they were getting riled up over here but I had no idea..." Charlie trailed off and rubbed his wrists. 

"This is less 'riled up' and more 'killing lots of people with a head slicer machine over riches'." Azaera joked. He stood up and offered a hand to Charlie, who gladly accepted it. 

"Well, guess I was lucky you were around." Charlie said softly as he was helped up. He adjusted Azaera's hat so it sat on his white curls better and took a good look at his partner. "It's been a while since I've seen you."

"It has been." Azaera said, reaching down to hold Charlie's hand. "I should move closer."

"You sure? Staying in one area, doesn't suit you for long."

"No." Azaera admitted. "But staying with you suits me."

Charlie laughed, to hide his blushing and the fact that he couldn't come up with a suitable response if he tried. "Shut up, you sap." He said. "Let's get some lunch." 

Azaera shook his head slightly and pointed at Charlie's shirt. "We aren't getting anywhere with you in that outfit." He teased.

"Sue me for trying to look presentable." Charlie muttered and clicked his fingers. Within a blink, he was wearing full revolutionary garb, completely bloodless. Another click from Azaera and time restarted. The guillotine blade finally crashed onto someone's neck, and Jean-Claude started his sentence only to be interrupted by pure confusion at his new, aristocratic outfit. Charlie smiled at Azaera as the guards dragged Jean-Claude to his death. 

"So, am I dressed for lunch now?"

"Yes, much better." Charlie was rewarded with a quick kiss to the cheek something easily dismissed as a friendly greeting in these parts. "Now, what would you say to crepes?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop a comment and/or kudos if you like it! Also I'll take suggestions for Antoni's final name of the flashbacks!
> 
> Had to think up a reason for Antoni to not miracle himself out of the Bastille because in my opinion he doesn't give a rat's left buttcheek about any of Gabriel's strongly worded notes, so he's got to have a physical limit on them dsjshjh
> 
> If my French sucked in this chapter, please let me know so I can fix it, I went off my own knowledge and wordreference.com


	13. st james's park, london, 1862

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all could've given Antoni his final name but you didn't so enjoy what I picked for him

Raphael was, technically speaking, not made to feel human things. Joy, despair, terror, rage, envy, all were discouraged of angels unless it was in Her name. Then they could feel all they wanted. But, also technically speaking, he had never given much of a shit about those rules and felt things anyway. Today, and for every day for the last decade, he regretted it. He'd been feeling exhausted, no matter how much sleep he got or how little he did that particular day. It was that dreadful bones-weighing-you-down, blinking-wears-you-out, existing-takes-up-far-too-much-energy type of exhaustion he feared he never would get used to. Raphael leaned heavily on his forearms against the railing separating the grass from the pond. His vision blurred the sleeves of his beige suit jacket and white-gloved hands and the ducks and water beyond him. He could hear their incessant quacking, no matter his state. Usually the ducks would cheer him up, remind him that the ones in this area are attracted to him, simply because their parents could remember him, and their grandparents. Most days, it made him happy to think upon the fact that his memory was imprinted onto the brains of these specific ducks, but today he just wished they'd shut up and piss off. It was a lovely day out. It was warm and the sun was out for once, and there were all types of happy people taking strolls through the park. Families, friends, newly married couples, elderly couples, children given a moment to explore, people by themselves, people with pets. The warm love radiating from all of them made Raphael sick. 

It was a few moments before he noticed that there was somebody talking to him. It took a few more to fully realize that it was Azaera. The only thing Raphael could focus on was that it looked as if Azaera had made a deliberate effort to not have a single color appear more than once in his ensemble. Weird guy, he thought. 

"-you even listening to me?" Azaera jostled Raphael's arm around a bit, and he blinked himself back into the world. It sucked. Now Raphael could notice just how worried Azaera looked and he felt nearly guilty. 

"You know you've been worrying me lately." The demon said softly, fixing him with those drowning blue eyes. "Are you sure you're well?"

"I am." Raphael answered, smiling a little to show it. "So, what did you want to meet for? And why here? You are aware you can come to my house."

Azaera fished a patterned bag out of his coat and tossed the breadcrumbs inside over the fence for the ducks. "Well, you know me." He said with a smile. "Maybe I wanted to go on a walk with you. But for now I'd like to get to the point." His face turned serious as he dropped another handful of breadcrumbs over. "I've been thinking lately about, well. All of this. And I've been thinking, what if everything goes downhill? We, well. We've got a lot in common, you and I." 

"Some, yes." Raphael said dully. Part of him wished this could be over with so he could go to his greenhouse and sleep for another few years. "But you're Fallen and I'm not, so that necessitates some differences between us."

Azaera shifted uncomfortably and let loose a short laugh. "Wouldn't call it Falling, really, more like...being shoved down a flight of stairs." He pushed at the air and returned oddly quickly to his point. "I need a favor."

"What more is it?" Raphael propped up his head with his hand and rested his elbow on the fence, ignoring the pain of the metal digging into his arm. "We have the arrangement, you know, lend a hand when needed..."

"I _really _would appreciate if you'd kindly stop referring to our marriage like that." Azaera whispered, casting a glance around. Never mind angels and demons, the things humans would do if they overheard that two vaguely male-appearing people were married. No Hellish influences necessary. "But this is something more, in case it all goes pear-shaped."

Raphael, who had been slipping out of it a bit, jolted back to the world to catch the tail end of the sentence. "I like pears." He muttered wearily. 

"In case it all goes wrong." Azaera clarified. He pulled a small piece of paper out of yet another pocket and pressed it into Raphael's palm. "For insurance. Wrote it down..."

Raphael opened the folded paper and he was sure Azaera was babbling nervously in the background but he couldn't hear. His world had centered in on a small piece of paper and his shaking hands holding it. _HOLY WATER_, Azaera had written, and Raphael could feel himself getting sick again. His ring was covered by his glove and when he reached up to tug at his hair he found that, yes, it was still cut closely to his head so there was nothing for him to do but grip at the paper so tightly it nearly tore and stare at it. _HOLY WATER_. Yes, it was still written on there, big letters, in Azaera's overly prim handwriting. Raphael could only imagine what Azaera would want it for and only one reasonable answer came to mind. He wasn't the type to kill or hurt or maim, he never had been, not even in the old days when demons were running amok and having an absolute field day, not even in the Garden. He was always so genuinely _hurt _by any type of unnecessary cruelty or suffering, and he was never the type. He was always the type to do stupid and risky things because he was just _such _an idiot and....and Azaera was staring at Raphael now so he'd better say something.

"Have you..." Raphael's voice shook just as much as his body and he finally glanced up at Azaera. "Have you been feeling alright? Lately? You know you can tell me anything, you must know that by now..."

Azaera titled his head and had the nerve to look _bewildered_, the shit. "What the heaven are you talking about, love?" He asked. "Will you or won't you?"

And what was Raphael meant to say to that? Bring his partner the tool of his ultimate undoing? "No, I can't. I won't do it, out of the question."

"Why not?" Azaera said sharply, looking as if he were _offended _of all things, as if he'd not just brought down Raphael's whole world. 

"Why not?!" Raphael knew he was getting loud now but he couldn't care about any human's opinion of him. They'd just die eventually. "You're ridiculous! This..." He held up the paper and jabbed a finger at it. "This will destroy you! I'm not...I refuse to bring you a suicide pill, Azaera."

Azaera crossed his arms and let out a huff of breath. "I would hope you'd have more faith in me." He said calmly. "That isn't what I want it for, it's just in case."

"I gave you my answer." Raphael steadied his voice and ripped the paper in two. Yes, bit dramatic, but who cares? "Either way, I've already gotten in _very _big trouble with Heaven just a few decades ago and I'd rather not risk it by letting them know I'd been _fraternizing _with a demon, checking out things like holy water requires all sorts of checks and papers, and-"

"Fraternizing?" Azaera choked out. Raphael froze to see the demon near the edge of tears. "So, right, all of _this_, is that all it ever was to you?" Azaera set his jaw and clenched his fists around his jacket. "As I recall, you've never cared about Heaven's rules up until right now so I'm wondering what's got into you."

Raphael let out something close to a growl and tugged at his gloves. "You know what I mean, shut up with dramatics!" He hissed. "You wouldn't understand. This is it, end of discussion. I gave you my answer. I won't do it." And he knew Azaera would _not _understand because he couldn't remember Heaven. If Hell gets pissy with you, they have a good go at you, beat you up a bit, and it _hurts_, it does, but it's over and done with. Heaven shows you everything you fear and you wake knowing, with certainty, that they could make it happen if they had any incentive. And you'd rather not give them any. 

"Fine then." Azaera turned away and threw another round of projectile crumbs into the pond. "Fine. I've got plenty of others to _fraternize _with, I don't need you around." 

Raphael threw his hands in the air and took a few steps backwards. "Of course, right. Fuck me for not wanting you to kill yourself I guess. I'll leave now." The entire moment felt wrong, viscerally wrong in a way he could not put his finger on right now. A few hours later, after having a very good cry, he'd realize it was because they'd never, in all their thousands of years, fought like this before. 

"If you're leaving, get on with it!" Azaera shouted, and then left himself, striding briskly down the path away from Raphael, not turning back once.

Raphael watched the beacon of color for a moment longer before he pushed himself off the fence and plodded back the way he'd came. He covered his eyes with his hands and gently pushed his head back. He let out a weary sigh and put his hands back down. He decided he could use a nap. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Azaera POV for the last two! Who's psyched for him, because I literally cannot wait to write him


	14. london, 1941

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there demon, it's me, ya boi

Despite the chill of the night, Azaera was feeling absolutely delighted to be out and about. For one, the stars were lovely, as always. Ever since the humans had found patterns and stories within them, he'd made it a habit to look for them. Amazing minds on those humans, projecting their own stories onto flaming balls of gases billions and billions of light years away. He was also delighted because of his destination. He was meant to be meeting one Mr. Harmony and another Mr. Glozier at an old abandoned house at the edge of the city. Rumor has it that it used to be home to a Satanic cult that practiced human sacrifices. Those rumors were entirely false. The Satanic cult that used to live there had never sacrificed anybody and wouldn't have dreamed of it. The two Nazis had wanted to set up this rendezvous in a _church_ of all places, but Azaera had managed to shut down that idea and relocate it. So, here he was, walking down an old dirt path surrounded by forest, one hand in his coat pocket, the other holding a nice leather suitcase. Azaera smiled at the wind screamed through the trees. What a lovely night. 

The old house was in fairly good condition, considering that it had been a long while since it had been lived in. Azaera could see candlelight flickering in the windows and two silhouetted figures. He hesitated at the door, wondering if it would be impolite of him to enter without knocking first. He decided it would be, gave the door a firm couple knocks. There was no response so he assumed it was alright to come in. He took a quick peek through the boards nailed to the windows, as a final check that no one was coming to greet him at the door, and when nobody showed themselves to be polite hosts, he took it upon himself to enter. 

"Mr. Glozier? Mr. Harmony?" He called out as the door creaked open. A reply of "in the living room, Mr. Fell." spurred him on and he stepped into the old house. It was dark and chilly, and seemingly only lit by the candlelight in the living room. The floorboards were creakier than the door, and Azaera shook his head at the lack of proper floorboards and oiled hinges. What a mess the house had become, covered in about twenty layers of dust and cobwebs all over. The living room was just past the entrance hall, and it was no better than the rest of the house. The candlelight danced over dusty furniture and an unused fireplace and created an eerie atmosphere. The wind continued to howl against the walls and the windows. The two men sitting on the couch, Mr. Harmony and Mr. Glozier, seemed unbothered by it.

"Mr. Fell, you are late." Glozier said in a playful tone. "But not to worry." He gestured to the floral armchair across from them, inviting Azaera to sit down.

"You have the books for the Führer?" Harmony asked once Azaera had sat, straight to the point as always. 

Azaera nodded and opened his suitcase, revealing a stack of books tied up with string. "Here we are, lads. Books of prophecy. Otwell Binns, Robert Nixon, Mother Shipton, the whole lot. All first editions too, as you'd requested." It hadn't been very hard finding the first edition copies of such old books. All he had to do was sort through his boxes of books to find them. Such a hassle, just as he'd packed them up too. Azaera had been planning to convert an old, broken down bus into his own sort of library-on-wheels for a while, and he was just able to do so. And then the Nazis interrupted the moving process, which was irritating. 

"What about the other book we told you to bring us?" Harmony asked, leaning forwards to take his bag. "The Führer was most definite he needed it. It has the prophecies that are true. With the true prophecy book..." A smile spread across his face and he let out a short laugh. "The war is as good as won."

"The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter?" Azaera asked, although he already knew just which book they meant. "No luck, I'm afraid that's something of a Jersey Devil to us book lovers." His smile faltered only slightly upon receiving only blank stares in response to his reference. Frankly, he felt a little bit offended. Who wouldn't be intrigued by all the monsters humans had cooked up? "Either way, no luck on that one." He finished. 

Harmony leafed through the pages of one of Azaera's Mother Shipton book, and the demon could only imagine the amount of filth getting on his precious pages. "Why are there no copies of Agnes Nutter's book?" The Nazi asked. "We have made it clear that money is not an object, you will be a very rich man." He smiled in what the man probably thought was a very charming fashion.

"That's just the trouble, there's no copies left." Azaera said wistfully. "Every unsold copy was destroyed by Mrs. Nutter herself, and none of them sold. I suppose people don't want to face the future, hm?" He waited for a response, and got none. "Good news, however! In my search, I found the publisher's catalogue for 1655, and it does list just one of her prophecies!" Azaera also failed to mention that he owned that particular catalogue. He'd been very excited to buy the book too, but he had to be off in the colonies for some temptation or other and completely missed his opportunity. When he'd returned to England after stirring up enough trouble with those colonists to last a lifetime, Agnes Nutter's name was hardly remembered outside of the most studious literary circles and people very into the occult. It was awfully disheartening to say the least.

Glozier's eyebrows raised in curiosity, the only show of an emotion on his blank face. "What was it?"

"It was for 1972, so I doubt all too helpful for the war." Azaera chattered, relaxing more into his armchair. "'Do not buy Betamax' it says." 

"Who is this Peter Max?" Glozier asked. He waved a hand at Harmony, who pulled out a pen and paper and scribbled down the prophecy.

Azaera shrugged and wiggled in his seat. "I have absolutely no idea." He smiled. 

"I'll pass it along to the Führer." Glozier nodded and looked through the books himself. He seemed suitably impressed as he most certainly damaged the spine of every book he held. "You have been a great help to us, Mr. Fell." He stood for what Azaera assumed to be a handshake until he was holding a gun to the demon's forehead. "What a pity you must be eliminated." 

Azaera stuffed his hands into his pocket and crossed one leg over the other. "You Nazis really are horrible hosts, aren't you?" He teased, glancing at Harmony pointing a second gun at him from the corner of his eye. "You can't even greet me inside the place." 

"You don't seem worried." Glozier remarked nonchalantly. As if it was perfectly alright with him to not have someone begging for their life for once.

In one swift movement, Azaera jumped to stand on top of the armchair, releasing a plume of dust, and pulling out his own pistol from his pocket. His bright eyes glinted dangerously as he smiled like he hadn't in ages. "I'm not worried!" He cried, perhaps a bit too loudly, but he couldn't give a blessing either way. This was the most fun he'd had in about a hundred years. "Yes, it might be two against one, but I'm a quick shot. One second it's Mr. Glozier with a hole through his head and the next Mr. Harmony with a hole in his chest. Why, you'd both be dead before you even know it, so I suggest you step aside, Mr. Glozier. I'd hate to stain the books with your blood." He thought he'd made a rather impressive and intimidating speech, considering, until the two Nazis started chuckling. 

"Men, come on down!" Glozier shouted to the front hall. A moment passed and the sound of many running feet tramping down creaky old stairs reverberated through the house. It shook the dust from the ceiling, and in no time flat, Azaera was surrounded by several more men with guns. He'd expected tricks, but nothing that a good bullet or two couldn't solve. He decided next time he went Nazi hunting, he'd bring backup. 

"As you can see, Mr. Fell," Glozier continued. "You are completely surrounded. You couldn't get more than one bullet out of that gun before you got ripped to pieces. So, I suggest you give up and lay on the floor so we don't ruin your precious books." He smirked and quirked an eyebrow, a silent challenge. 

"This is ridiculous." Azaera whined. "There'll be so much paperwork if you discorporate me, and there's always coffee stains and none of the pens work for more than a minute Down There!" He ignored the confused expressions on the Nazis's faces and thought long and hard about the proper protocol in these situations. On page thirty-three of the Usage of Major Demonic Miracles section of the _Hell Handbook: Fuck You Edition, _where all the important information was always several pages past a load of muck, it stated: "In case of imminent discorporation, just die and fill out the paperwork for a new body. It's your own fault for being such an idiot that you let a fucking human kill you, anyways. You got what you deserved, you pathetic excuse for a demon". That wasn't helpful in this situation, because although that was the official side to it, there was always another side. That was the part of Azaera that honestly just wanted to transport himself and his books to some quaint cafe and get a nice cup of cocoa and a slice of carrot cake. 

Azaera was lost in thoughts about how much he really wanted some carrot cake when the door creaked open again and a torrent of expletives filled the house. He smiled, almost tearing up, at the familiar voice. 

"Aah! Shit, fuck, holy Mary and Joseph, fuck fuck fuck, what the shit is wrong with this place?" The voice had a face put to it as a certain red-headed angel hopped into the room. Azaera whipped around, almost forgetting his gun, and just took in the sight. There he was again, golden eyes, sunset hair comfortingly at his shoulders, blue suit and flat white cap to match. If the situation hadn't been what it was, Azaera might've jumped into his arms that instant. 

A murmur of shock rippled through the room at his arrival. "Why, Mr. Antoni J. Raphael." Glozier said breathlessly. "Your fame precedes you."

"Oh, it's Antoni now?" Azaera asked, finally addressing his (could he still call him that?) angel. 

Antoni nodded and leaned against the wall, jumping back with a shout of "shit!". "Yep, I think I like this one." He said in a strained voice. "Thought I might try for a whole name." 

"What's the J for?" Azaera kept his gun trained at Mr. Glozier's head. The rest of the room seemed to disappear, like nothing else mattered besides the sight of Antoni. 

"Just kind of there, I'll figure it out." Antoni shrugged. He was doing a sort of funny dance now, one that involved his feet not touching the floor as much as possible. 

Azaera had been flooded with emotions since he first heard Antoni's voice. Joy, relief, love, definitely. Confusion, anxiety, longing, definitely. What was one supposed to feel when you see your partner for the first time in a hundred years after the worst fight you've ever had? "Well I'm quite glad you got up in time." He said, slightly more snippy than he meant it to come out. The house faded back in, slowly, around Antoni. Could he be blamed for feeling annoyed? He had been more or less hung out to dry after their fiasco in St. James's, with no chance of apology on either side, no end to anything. Just them hanging somewhere in a state of togetherness and isolation. 

"Look, I was awfully stressed, alright?" Antoni hissed. He'd picked up on what Azaera had been saying with different words. "There was a lot happening all at once, I thought you were going to go and _die_ for Pete's sake!"

"You thought I was suicidal so you went to take a nap?" Azaera knew he wasn't making anything better. Oh, he was definitely making things so much worse, but he couldn't stop the words tumbling out. "That's very supportive of you, isn't it?"

Antoni was spared from having to respond to that by the Nazis remembering that they were supposed to be killing somebody. "Just kill them already, they are very irritating." Harmony ordered. Azaera shot Antoni a very pointed look that meant _"look, no sense in us both getting discorporated, so you run along and I'll be back in a jiffy." _Antoni responded with a wink and a barely noticeable shake of his head.

"In one minute," The angel announced bravely, "a German bomber will release a bomb right overhead." He pointed to the ceiling, causing all the men to look up. "Now, you all have a minute to run away very very fast and if you run fast enough there's a possibility you won't die. Dying won't be fun, and I won't be seeing you afterwards."

Glozier shook out of his confusion and laughed. "You really think we'll believe that? The bombs will fall on the East End tonight."

Antoni nodded, smiling wickedly. "Yes, yes, you're right." He said, hopping about between the men. "It would take a spur-of-the-moment act of divine intervention to throw the radar off, yes. You all could be running away!" Antoni pointed to the door and began skipping in a circle around Azaera's chair. "But, let's say, in thirty seconds now, a bomb actually does land here, it would be the luck of the devil if me and my friend here survived." He shot his own look up at Azaera, which meant "_if we die here because I bombed us and you didn't shield us, I will kill you." _

Azaera nodded, trying and failing to keep his fluttering heart under control. "Yes, luck of the devil." He was absolutely flattered that Antoni would even show up, let alone bomb an old cult house full of Nazis to keep him from discorporation! They'd both gone through it several times and it was highly unpleasant. But still, he was now Antoni's friend. Did that have any meaning to it? Was he overthinking? He blinked and he was out of it, discreetly waving his free hand to cast a protection around the chair. 

Glozier opened his mouth to say something before he stopped. A low whistle came from above. Several loud booms. All eyes were trained upwards, except Azaera, who was looking down at Antoni's wickedly gleeful face. Oh, how he loved that angel. 

There was a single instant before the bomb landed. The roar and crash of the house blowing to bits was deafening, and Azaera was very nearly sure they were discorporated despite the protection. Another instant passed and he opened his eyes again, finding himself standing on a floral armchair covered in char and rubble. Antoni was sitting on the arm of it, twisting his ring around his finger. Azaera took a moment to look around the ruins of the dilapidated home and found evidence of former Nazi lives, in hands sticking out from floorboards, in bits of blood sprayed on what was a wall. Well, good riddance, he thought. If only there had been more.

"Well." Azaera breathed, dropping down to sit on the chair and jostling Antoni. "That was very kind of you. You seemed like you had fun."

"Shut it." Antoni snapped, and Azaera had to wonder if the tone meant a thing. "I don't like Nazis." Antoni stared at the smoking ground. 

"Neither do I." Azaera said. He wanted to say something more. He wanted to apologize and he wanted to yell and he wanted to cry and he wanted to kiss Antoni until his face fell off. He did none of them. So, the pair sat in silence as both of them grappled for any sort of action to properly express everything. 

And then Azaera leapt to his feet, feeling as though he'd just been struck by icy cold lighting. "Oh! The books!" He cried. He circled the chair to no avail. The books hadn't been within his protection. The books hadn't been within his protection. "Oh, they'll all have been blown to..." He trailed off as Antoni pushed himself off the arm of the chair with a grin. He strode over to the remains of the coffee table and kicked over a few boards to reveal Azaera's leather suitcase, still in perfect condition.

"Little miracle of my own." He reached down to pick up the bag and hand it off to Azaera. "You can stay at mine tonight, I'll drive." He walked off out of the ruins and all Azaera could do was stare. _Oh_, that definitely was something coming to life in him. His heart pounded in his chest and he wiped a few tears that dared fall from his eyes. Why was he crying? He was happy the books hadn't been blown up, wasn't he? Oh, and he was, and it felt so much bigger than happiness. Like this emotion might grow like a creature in his chest and tear him apart. Only at a distant shout of "what, you spending the night in a trash heap?" did he come back to life and trot towards Antoni. 

"You like it?" Antoni asked once Azaera had caught up. He was leaning against his new car, a small yellow one. "It's one of those new types, the Volkswagon Beetle. I really like the color of it, what do you think?" He smiled brightly and gleefully slid into the driver's seat.

Azaera hesitated a bit. "Darling, you're aware these are manufactured by Nazis, correct?" He questioned. "Please tell me you didn't buy a Nazi car."

"You're the only one who says I bought it." Antoni said cheekily, beeping the horn a couple times. "Get on in, it won't bite." 

"Why, you _scoundrel_." Azaera giggled as he stepped into the passenger seat. It did seem rather snug, and this new fact only made it ten times better, and his Emotion ten times closer to bursting out of him. 

~*~

The ride to Antoni's greenhouse was silent. Only the sounds of passing cars or wildlife or the general city buzz filled the atmosphere between them. There were too many words, too many feelings, and far too many Emotions for words to fully encompass it. The silence continued when they stepped into Antoni's greenhouse, except when Azaera commented that the plants were very lovely and Antoni said thank you. There was silence besides the gentle thuds of feet on stairs as Antoni lead him down to his basement, his home. Azaera had visited several times in the past, and every time he was delighted to be there. The feeling of warmth and security was ever-present in such a small, snug area. He wished for his own home to be like that, when it was finished.

Antoni shed his hat and coat at the foot of the stairs and mumbled something about tea before disappearing into the kitchen. That surprised Azaera, as Antoni had loved coffee since it was discovered. Azaera was the one that preferred tea. He thought on it only a moment before removing his own coat, and stuffed his pistol back into the pocket once he remembered his hand was clenched around it. It left marks in his palm, and he opened and closed his hand a couple of times as if that would make them fade. He sat on the couch and listened to Antoni fuss about in the kitchen. Tea was brought out, thanks were given and received, Antoni was sat at the other end of the couch, and the silence continued. 

"What are we doing?" Azaera asked. He stared into his tea and felt as if he'd destroyed something sacred in interrupting their silence. 

Antoni said nothing for a long time. "What do you want to do?" He replied simply. 

"I love you." Azaera stated through a lump in his throat. "The last time we saw each other...if there's nothing there for you any longer, I won't push you to be with me." 

"And I love you." Antoni said, hopefully. "I know. It was bad last time. And I'm sorry I disappeared on you. But there most definitely is something here for me." He leaned into the small space separating them. "The last time I saw you, I had a lot on my plate. I was stressed, I handled it...probably not the best."

Azaera slowly moved closer to Antoni, turning the feet between them into inches. Satan, it had been so long. "I asked a lot of you. Didn't explain myself very well. I understand." He said, barely a breath. "I love you." 

"You know I can't give it to you." Antoni murmured, taking Azaera's hand in his own. "I love you, so I can't. It's too dangerous, no matter what you use it for. For both of us, and I don't want any of our bosses mad at us." 

Azaera nodded and touched his forehead to Antoni's. He closed his eyes and took in the moment. He'd missed this, not only just the affection, but the easy flow of conversation between them, seeing how his eyes light up in the prettiest way when he gets excited, his smile, his voice, him. The Emotion was close to the skin of his chest now, clawing its way out in such a beautiful manner. "I love you." Azaera choked out and the Emotion was freed.

"I love you too, you sappy shit." Antoni said, and Azaera could hear him smiling. "And I'm going to kiss you absolutely stupid." 

Azaera laughed. "I'm not stopping you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The J eventually stands for John. Antoni will say it's for John the Baptist but it is for John Deacon of Queen fame


	15. soho, london, 1967

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been psyched to write this one tbh  
Also sorry I’ve been taking my time on updating literally everything, I’m in a couple of gift exchanges atm so I’m trying to work out that

Apart from the impending humidity, it really was a pleasant night. Of course, Azaera had hardly seen a night he couldn't appreciate for some reason or another. Something that could've improved it immensely was getting rid of all that light pollution. You could hardly see a star in the city beforehand, and now it's all just a blank slate up top. Azaera pitied the people who'd never seen the night sky just blanketed with silver specks of light. The people he'd met up with had wanted to hold this meeting in a nightclub of all places, and Azaera had put his foot down on that very quickly. He was not comfortable around those types of places, and even if he was he'd have nothing to wear. So he set up a table and four folding chairs outside of his library, prepared a pot of tea and some snacks for everyone, and insisted on holding the meeting right there. It was just easier so no one overheard, naturally. Azaera would always say the best place to discuss things in secret is the privacy of one's one home. 

Sally and Spike looked a little put out to be at some silly tea party. They looked as if they'd already gotten dressed for the nightclub and had to come all the way out here. Sally was picking at a biscuit and Spike had poured himself a very full cup of tea. Azaera hoped they weren't horribly upset with him, it'd be much more difficult to break into a church and rob them of holy water if your relationship with your teammates isn't good. 

"Alright then, now we've settled in a bit, we can discuss." Azaera clasped his hands on the table and leaned forward. Sally and Spike followed suit, the latter cursing quietly as he spilled tea over his nice shirt. "So, Spike, I'm thinking you're the muscle in this operation, hauling ropes and whatnot."

Spike nodded and gave a certain look over at Sally. "She's going down on the ropes then?" Sally glared at Spike, who simply raised his eyebrows at her.

While Azaera was trying to figure out if that was meant as a sexual innuendo or was simply being taken as one, and also how to proceed with the conversation now, the sound of a throat clearing came from behind. He jumped and turned to see a young man, perhaps in his twenties. "Hello there." Azaera said, trying for a charming smile. "Very sorry, library's closed for the night. We'll be open bright and early in the morning, however, so you run along and come on back then." 

The man shifted awkwardly and shook his head. "No, eh, you needed a lockpick, yes?" He asked in a heavy Scottish accent. "For the heist." 

"Oh, yes! I did indeed!" Azaera nodded and gestured at the empty chair across from him. "Although I was expecting Mr. Narker." 

"Mr. Narker's passed on to his reward." The man sat and glanced at the plate of biscuits, and Azaera caught a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "I've taken over the business. He was my cellmate, taught me everything he knew. My name's Shadwell." 

Azaera smiled and reached a hand across the table, keeping it there a moment before Shadwell caught on and shook it. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Shadwell. And I'm ever so sorry for your loss." He never just said it, he truly was. He could understand how hard it was for a human to have somebody they loved died. Azaera could only assume it felt like the end of the world. 

Shadwell nodded quickly and snatched a biscuit. "Lance Corporal Shadwell, actually. If you don't mind." And there was an air to him that told Azaera that if he did mind, he'd be in for quite the debacle. Alright then, he thought. I won't mind.

"_Any_way," Sally interrupted, evidently tired of all the men speaking over her. "What's so valuable that it's gonna be left at a church? At night?" She leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms.

"Details will come later, don't you worry dear." Azaera winked and dug into his bag for his wallet. He'd wanted to wear his cargo shorts with the large pockets just to hold the money, but he wanted to make a good impression on the group. So dress pants and a button up it was. "I'll pay you well for your time and trouble." He opened his wallet, skimmed through some photos of him and Antoni he kept in it, and pulled out a wad of cash. He might've miracled most of it up, but in his defense, mobile librarians don't get paid very well and if he's capable of just creating money when he needs to, why shouldn't he? Yes, economics and such, but it's never been in a very large amount. 

"Excuse me, Mr. Fell, ehm." Shadwell shot his hand up, and Azaera nodded in his direction and continued sorting the money into three equal piles. "There's nae...witchcraft involved here, is there?"

Azaera shook his head and chuckled. "No, no, dear boy. Very witch-free robbery. Any other questions, from anybody?" He glanced around the small table, and again acknowledged Shadwell's raised hand.

"You are not yourself a witch, warlock, or someone who calls your cat funny names?"

Azaera almost burst out laughing at that. The things kids would believe these days, that naming your cat something like Mr. Foo-Foo is equivalent to possessing magical power. And then believing that such power was to be destroyed. Silly children. "No. Not a witch, no pets. Sorry to disappoint." Azaera smiled at Shadwell, silently telling him to please stop interrupting the meeting with such absurd and irrelevant questions. Thankfully, Shadwell fell silent. "Does anyone else have questions?"

"What are we getting paid?" Sally held her arm up for a moment before dropping it.

Azaera pushed his neat stacks over to each of them. "Here's a hundred pounds up front, and another hundred once everything's done and settled. Another hundred just for privacy's sake, but I'm sure no one will be complaining." He laughed silently and the murmurs of assent round the group. 

After a moment more, where Azaera insisted everyone stay a moment longer and finish up the tea and snacks he put out for everyone, Spike and Sally took their leave. Shadwell remained, looking just a little bit awkward. Azaera frowned, wondering what was going on in the man's head. He seemed lonely, somehow, and Azaera couldn't help but wonder why that would be. 

"Is there something I can help you with?" Azaera leaned forward, trying to project a helpful and concerned air. It's not that he wasn't concerned or that he didn't want to help if there was help to be needed. It's only that, simply because of the nature of being a demon, his concerns and wants to help come across as disingenuous every so often. 

Shadwell shook his head and sat up straighter. He pushed his plate away from him and looked Azaera directly in the eye. "Well, Mr. Fell, I just wanted to ask a moment of your time." 

"Of course, there's no problem." Azaera leaned back in his chair and gestured to his plate. "You can eat, Mr. Shadwell."

"Lance Corporal Shadwell, if you forgot the first time."

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry!" Azaera said. "I'm old, things slip my mind here and again. What are you exactly a Lance Corporal in?" Azaera looked the man over, and couldn't get any military airs off of him. 

"That is precisely the manner upon which I planned to speak with you." Shadwell replied, a smug look creeping up onto his face. "You remember, earlier this evening, I asked a rather pointed question about witchcraft?"

Azaera nodded. Pointed would be an understatement. "Yes, I believe so."

"Well, I am a proud member of an enormous organisation. A secret army that battles the forces of witchery. I was inducted into it." Shadwell said proudly, puffing his chest out a little.

Azaera almost laughed. So he _was _one of those types. He still couldn't believe, that after several hundred years, humans haven't gotten over their fear of the supernatural. Mostly men, he'd noticed, since women seemed to be the ones who could control this mysterious unknown powers. How ridiculous. "That's very nice." He replied, in the tone your mother might use when she doesn't quite understand what you're talking about. 

"The Witchfinder Army." Shadwell continued. "Perhaps you heard of it?"

"You just said it was secret." Azaera said, still smiling. He had no idea where this man was going with this conversation, but since it seemed he didn't need anything, Azaera wanted it to be over with. He had a good book and some shortcake waiting for him inside. 

Shadwell recovered remarkably quickly from the slip-up. "Well, ye never know when a gentleman such as yourself might have need of such an organisation. A man with hundreds of pounds to throw around....if you need us, the Witchfinder Army are here for you."

So it was for the money. "Well, that's very kind of you!" Azaera said earnestly. "Truly, thank you." He opened his mouth to say more before something across the street caught his eye. A yellow Volkswagen Beetle, pulling over and parking by the side of the road. Azaera leaned to the side just an inch, and he caught a flash of long red hair past the window. A sort of giggly feeling arose in him, the one that always arose when he hadn't seen his Antoni in a while. It'd just been a few years, but now that they were both officially in the same city, it felt different. Not being able to walk into his greenhouse and see him watering his plants or harassing any unlucky customers trying to buy a plant or in his basement relaxing. Not having him drop by the library-on-wheels every so often to drop off a bag of baked goods or invite him out to a meal or be waiting downstairs in his living compartment while Azaera is lending and retrieving books. Even being in the same country made it difficult to go long stretches without seeing him. 

Azaera only focused back on Shadwell when the man cleared his throat rather aggressively. "I _said,_ Mr. Fell." He said impatiently. "That you know where to find me if you decide to solicit our assistance."

"Yes, thank you very much." Azaera muttered, eyes still on the yellow car. "Now, if you could be a dear and run along, I do believe an old friend has come to visit me." Thankfully, Shadwell did run along, no forced goodbye's exchanged and if it weren't for Antoni, Azaera would be miffed at the lack of manners. As it was, Azaera walked the short distance across the street nearly the moment Shadwell had left. 

He'd been right. Once Azaera made it across the street, the door opened and Antoni exited, waving him over. He leaned on the side of the car, exuding an air of calm and cool to anyone who didn't know him. Azaera knew better, from the pinch of Antoni's lips to the twisting of his ring. He was nervous, but he smiled brightly once Azaera leaned against the car next to him. 

"You've cursed it, haven't you?" Was the first thing Antoni said, jerking a thumb back at the car. "It only plays songs by that boy band, Beatles. And you know I hate it." 

If Azaera tuned out the noises of the city, he could hear the muffled chorus to _Yesterday_ playing from inside the car. "I assure you I've done nothing of the sort. Perhaps it's picked up a sense of humor from you." A beat, another, and then: "I've missed you, love."

Antoni squirmed a bit, having grown uncomfortable at or worried about expressions of affection. Azaera worried. "I missed you too. Heaven had me working my ass off over in the States. Nothing important either. Busywork."

"And you picked up that new style the youth are at over there." Azaera grinned when Antoni swatted his arm. When the angel left, he'd had his usual casual attire. But now, he was sporting bell bottom jeans and a tie-died t-shirt. Azaera wouldn't admit that it suited him to look so laid back, not when he could have his fun teasing Antoni over it.

"And I see you picked up style." Antoni tried at a smile but it fell short at his eyes. "Anyway, I just...I just wanted to talk with you." He was pulling at his hair now, which made hornets buzz about in Azaera's stomach. Antoni was afraid. 

"Well, should we go inside?" Azaera made a vague gesture across the street to his bus. "After all. People." 

Antoni shook his head. "They won't pay us any mind." He said with certain surety. "Look, it's just...I live here too, you know. I hear things, rumors. I've heard you're setting up to go rob a church, and...you can't." He glanced at the night sky, at the sidewalk, at the storefront across from them, anywhere but Azaera. "It's too dangerous, you know what holy water will do to you. It won't just kill your body, it will completely destroy your soul." His voice was filled with a certain desperation, a certain vulnerability that Azaera didn't know what to do with. 

"I know the risks." Azaera said, trying to keep his voice steady. "And you made it quite clear what you think of the subject, a whole century ago." Oh, he hated to remember that fight. 

Antoni clenched his jaw and nodded. "I did. My mind's not changed, but I can't have you going and risking your life. There are too many different things that could go wrong and then...then you'd...." Instead of finishing the sentence, Antoni pushed himself off the car and opened the door. Azaera watched him intently, and felt a small gasp leave his mouth when Antoni came back out holding a baby-blue thermos. "Don't go taking the top off." 

Azaera took it with shaking hands, feeling the holiness sting even with the plastic protection. "Oh, darling." He whispered. "After everything?" He tore his gaze away from the thermos to look into Antoni's watery golden eyes. The angel nodded, and Azaera grinned despite himself. "Oh, darling, my sweet. I could just kiss you." 

"Don't." Antoni half sobbed. "It's easy for you, to have it. I feel like I've signed your death warrant." He wiped at his eyes and took a few deep breaths. "I love you, you know that. But I feel like I'm killing you. With this, and with loving you, it feels like I'm constantly putting you in danger." 

Azaera reached out to Antoni and let the angel take his hand. "I understand." He whispered, because he did. Loving Antoni was wonderful and terrifying. "I understand. Maybe tonight, tomorrow, we could get dinner? Celebrate you being back." 

Antoni shook his head and let go of Azaera. "I can't, not now." He whispered back. "Later." With that he got back into his car, and the lack of a goodbye before he drove off stung.

Azaera stood on the side of the road, watching him leave until he couldn't. He didn't look for cars before crossing the street, but nothing hit him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to go into the script book to figure out Spike and Sally's names, did my best to give them personalities. Spike is himbo and Sally is my new wife


	16. back to the present; one day until the end of the world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you know how badly I wanted to title this chapter Back to the Future

It was nearly 7:30am, and Antoni had to admit that he was a little bit proud to finally have a reason to connect photos on a cork-board with red string. Little notes and mathematical formulas lay strewn on the coffee table and spilled off onto the floor. Antoni paced back and forth, taking sips of his fourth cup of coffee in as many hours and mumbling to himself. 

"Right, come on then." He said, shrugging his shoulders back. "Not the worst thing you've talked to good ol' Gabe about. Not the best, but they can't all be winners." He paused to drain his mug and put it down on his table. "Ok, so we'll just have to call Shadwell and pop on Up to give a little..." He gestured around, having difficulty finding the right words. Two hours of sleep when you're used to about eight will have that effect. "A progress report." He settled on. 

Antoni shook himself out and assumed a rather laid-back posture. "Hey, Gabriel! What's up? No, no. That's bad." He stiffened his back and squared his shoulders. "O, most holy Archangel...nah, who am I kidding, couldn't say that with a straight face." He clears his throat and relaxes, only slightly. "Hey there Gabriel, just uh. Well, you're the expert on supernatural babies, what do you know about missing Antichrists?" 

Everything he was saying was wrong. Bad, bad, bad, wouldn't do at all. He needed to be more...something. Less scripted. Less nervous. Less...whatever else he was. Whatever else he was wasn't exactly smiled upon Up Top. Antoni took in a couple breaths and closed his eyes. He wanted Azaera here, but Azaera would say he was being ridiculous. Azaera wouldn't see how he was trying to get everything sorted out without any bloodshed. Azaera just wouldn't understand. 

"One more go." He whispered. His eyes popped open and he put on his best sunny smile. "Well, Gabriel, just the entity I was looking for! Just wanted to let you know that I don't quite think the Antichrist was placed with the right people. In fact, I _know _he wasn't because I've spent all night doing a good amount of reading and I have his phone number and home address and he really isn't with the right people! So I think if we just do something about it now, since everything's all fucked up, then we can all go back to our regular lives. Sound good?" It did not sound good. Antoni let his smile drop and he fell onto his couch. This was ridiculous. The chances of Heaven actually listening to him were so small that they were past microscopic. But he had to try because the only other option was violence. Heaven could be swayed to just call off the whole thing if he said the right things in the right order in the right clothes and had the right face on. All the factors were worth it, all of the risk was worth it. It had to be.

~*~

The novelty of being eleven years old wears off after a couple of days. Adam always thought that the birthday was the most fun part of it, and then you enjoy all the gifts the next, and then you're just eleven. The novelty of having one's own dog does not wear off after such a short time, however. Dog had been officially integrated into the family, and his dad was looking to get him a collar with a name tag over the weekend. Adam had wanted a fancy name tag for Dog, one with those tiny rhinestones, but his mom had put her foot down on that. 

Adam was taking Dog for a walk around town, showing him all the sights and people that lived there. A lot of people stopped to pet him, which was alright by Adam, since Dog was very cute and all. Everyone should be able to appreciate a cute dog, but all the stopping took time and he was supposed to be back home for lunch. As he rounded the corner of the street, he broke out of his mild thoughts about the thunderstorm meant for this evening by a rather loud shattering sound. Adam jumped and Dog looked up at him. Adam bent to pat his head and smiled at him. "Let's go see what's up, hm? Like an adventure." He said, and Dog wagged his tail in response. 

"So STUPID!" Came from around the bend. Adam rushed over to the gate by the front yard. He stopped, wondering if it were polite to just enter in or if he should knock first, until he saw just exactly who was yelling. It was the nice lady from in the woods, who'd asked him about beasts. Adam stood at the gate, wondering about the proper etiquette for going through gates when she looked up from her vase-smashing.

"Hi there." She said, standing up straight and wiping her eyes. "You can come in if you want."

"Are you alright?" Adam asked once he was inside the yard. 

The lady nodded and smiled, but she still looked sad. "Yes, I'm fine." 

"You were crying." Adam walked further into her yard and pointed at the shards of pottery on the ground. "And breaking things." 

The lady blinked, looked down, and started, as if she'd forgotten already. "I know, but...." She looked back up at him and wore a happier smile. "You're the kid from Hogback Wood, yeah? This is stupid, I just...I lost a book. I'm just stressed, so I suppose that was that." 

Adam nodded in understanding. He knew how it was, when you just had a lot of things going on and then one more thing happens. Like when he has school, piano lessons, and football practice, and then his friends want to go play in the woods after piano. "Maybe I can help you look for it?" He offered. "Dog here is a great detective."

"That's sweet of you." The lady said. She sniffled and wiped her eyes again. "It's been in my family for a while."

Adam walked over to sit down on the bench she'd been breaking pots on, being extra careful of the shards for Dog. "I wrote a book once." He said. "It was about a pirate and he was a famous detective. It was probably a lot more exciting than the book you lost." He didn't mean to brag, especially if she was upset about her book, but it _was _pretty good. "My favorite part is the bit when they're in a spaceship and the dinosaur comes and he has a fight with the cowboys. I bet my book would cheer you up." Adam stuck out his hand with a smile. "I'm Adam. I live down on Hogback Lane."

"I'm Anathema." Anathema shook his hand and sat down next to them. "And thank you. Are you from here?"

Adam nodded, smiling proudly. "Sure thing. This is my world." He made a vast, sweeping motion with his arm, starting from just where he'd come from to down the road. "From Hogback Wood to the Dip, and from the Old Quarry up to the pond." He pointed in the proper directions. He felt proud of his little circles of paradise. And indeed they were paradise, for to an eleven-year-old child, nothing is so wondrous as a good patch of the forest to call your own.

Anathema studied her hands for a moment before turning back to face him. "You haven't seen two men in a big black vintage car then, have you?"

"Did they steal it?" Adam's eyes lit up as he started picturing the men in his mind. "Professional book thieves, I'll bet, probably going around in their car stealing books."

"Oh no no, they didn't mean to steal it." Anathema reassured him, her smile looking like a proper one now. "They gave me a ride home and I accidentally left it there." Anathema conveniently decided to leave out the bit about them hitting her with said car. "Shoot, where'd my manners go? You want some lemonade?"

"Do we have to break into the cottage and battle the witch for it?" Adam jumped off the bench and demonstrated some karate moves Pepper had taught them. He wasn't good at it yet, but it was fun to fight her because she'd always win. 

Anathema gave him a sort of funny look. "No, it's my cottage. I'm renting it." She got up too and started towards the door.

"Look, I dunno if this is a polite question, but," Adam stopped his demonstration and jogged to catch up to Anathema. "Are you a witch?"

"No, I'm an occultist." Anathema turned to smile at him and continued on.

Adam grinned and nodded. "That's alright then." He wasn't sure what an occultist was, but if Anathema was one then it couldn't be bad. She let him call her by her first name and not say "Ms." and she answered his question even thought it might've been a bit rude. She was cool. 

It was only when Adam was nearly through the front door that he noticed Dog hadn't followed him. He furrowed his brow and peeked over his shoulder to see what the matter could be. "Oh, come on Dog!" He called, once he saw the dog crouched and growling in the garden. "We're going in."

What neither Adam nor Anathema noticed was that Dog was growling at the horseshoe over the cottage door. It had been hanging up there for several hundred years, back when popular superstition was that it could keep out evil beings. Dog, being a hellhound, is about as evil of a creature as they come. 

"Don't worry, you can leave him out here." Anathema said from inside. 

"No, he's got to do what I say. My dad says I can only keep him if he's properly trained." Adam turned to Dog with a stern look and pointed at the door. "Dog. Come inside."

Dog whimpered and looked up at Adam with his cutest puppy-dog eyes. Nothing. Dog really didn't want to do this, he was, after all, very evil and mean. But, when his master commands him to do something, he must obey. And so, Dog entered Jasmine Cottage and he became a little less hell and a bit more hound.

~*~ 

Azaera hummed idly over his cup of tea as he skimmed today's newspaper. Apparently some poor low-ranked fellow had taken the claim for influencing Brexit, which was starting a whole host of problems for him down in Hell. Plus, there was a debate over whether Pride should be removed as a Deadly Sin, which caused all the demons of Pride to start a whole host of riots. Azaera had to admit, he was a bit of a traditionalist. There were seven Sins and there will always be seven Sins, no matter what the Monarchy of Hell decided upon. Matters like these were why he was glad to be stationed up on Earth. He shook his head, imagining trying to get any work done when people were starting riots all over the place. Although, he thought, that happens on Earth too. But Earth wasn't nearly as cramped. 

The sound of bells chiming and a faint scent of tobacco and too much cologne wafting over him let him know the Sergeant was here. Azaera folded his newspaper and smiled up at the man taking the seat across from him. "Sergeant Shadwell, it has been almost too long since I've last seen you!" Azaera lied. It was never too long since. "Here, how about I buy you a coffee or something?" 

"That won't be necessary, thank ye." Shadwell said stiffly. "You're looking well."

Azaera hummed and took another bite of his blueberry muffin. "That comes of an appreciation for life." 

Shadwell chuckled and shook his head. "And how is your father, Is he well? You know, you resemble him quite a bit."

"Yes, he always said I was very lucky with that. He's doing well." Azaera smiled, but it didn't reach everywhere. Small talk with the Sergeant could be mind numbing at best and borderline bigoted at worst. It depended on the mood he was in, Azaera supposed. If he hadn't been paranoid about needing the Witchfinders, he'd have gotten rid of Shadwell ages ago. 

Shadwell reached into a stained and battered bag and produced an equally stained and battered pay ledger. He dropped it on the table with a small thud. "I've got the ledger for ye." He said. "It's hard times for us witchfinders in today's degenerate age, the men need their dues." 

"Of course, of course." Azaera responded, only half listening. "No need for that, I'll be by Saturday with two hundred fifty pounds."

"Cash only!" Shadwell laughed, stuffing the ledger back into his bag. "We don't take plastic." 

Azaera smiled and took a long sip of tea, using a discreet miracle to warm it back up. "I know just how you feel about it." 

"So." Shadwell shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "You called with a mission?"

"Yes, I did. But a man needs his breakfast." Azaera finished off his muffin, and considered calling the waitress over to order something else, but he decided that Shadwell might see that as him being rude and not stressed. He leaned in closer to Shadwell, an action his nose regretted, and spoke in a hushed voice. "There's a village down near Oxfordshire, Tadfield? Have you heard of it?" Shadwell shook his head and Azaera continued. "Lovely little place. Anyway, if you could send your best men down, that'd be lovely. I'm looking for a boy, eleven years old. I don't know more than that. Look for...something odd."

Shadwell glanced from side to side, as if worried the other two patrons of this cafe might be listening in. "This boy. He a witch?"

"He might be. Not quite sure yet." Azaera leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands over his stomach. "I suppose we'll need to find him first to see, won't we?" 

"Well, my best men, that would be Witchfinder Lieutenant Table, and-"

"Lovely seeing you!" Azaera stood up, leaving money on the table. "Good luck with the search, and if all goes well, I suppose I'll see you Saturday! Let me know when you find anything." He was in a rush and probably being rude, but what was he supposed to do? Sit around and make idle small talk when he could be doing things? Sure, Shadwell would be out and about, but maybe there was something else he could do to help. Or maybe he could check up on Antoni. He'd been worried about Antoni for a while now, and he had good reason. He'd sounded...off during their last phone call. Azaera walked out of the cafe without bothering to say goodbye and started for his bus on autopilot. He'd do some research and call Antoni. That might be enough. 

~*~

Adam decided that, as far as houses go, Anathema's was pretty neat. She had cool pictures on her wall, rocks and crystals on the shelves, and a lot of wicked old books that he could probably summon demons and make potions with. He watched her pour lemonade from the kitchen table and swung his legs absentmindedly. Dog had dozed off under the table some time ago. 

"My whole famiy have had occult powers, all the way back." Anathema handed him a glass of lemonade and sat down across from him. "We see ley lines."

"What's ley lines?" Adam asked. The lemonade was good, even though it was just the powder kind. He liked to make his own, with real lemons and everything. 

"Invisible lines of force that link places of power." Anathema explained. She'd been explaining occultism to Adam since they got inside, since the boy thought it was possibly one of the coolest things he'd heard of yet. 

"Amazing." Adam said in awe. "There being all these invisible lines of force, and me not seeing 'em." He waved his arms, as if to demonstrate. 

"We can see auras too." Anathema smiled and took a sip of her lemonade.

"What's that?"

"It's like...a colored force around someone." Anathema looked up at the ceiling and tapped her fingers while she thought. "Everyone has them. I can look at its strength and color and tell how you're feeling."

Adam's eyes lit up and he sat up in his seat. "That's brilliant!" He exclaimed. "Why don't we learn about this in school?"

"School is a repressive tool of the state." Anathema said it as if it were automatic. 

Adam blinked and sat silently. "Oh. Well, what color's my aura?" He recovered quickly, and bounced in his seat with excitement. Anathema smiled at him and Looked at him. He felt as if she might as well be seeing through him and seeing how all his bones and organs were, with how intensely she was staring. She Looked for a minute, before her concentrated expression slipped away into mild concern.

"I...Adam, I can't see your aura." She said in disbelief. The Looking stopped and she adjusted her glasses slightly.

Adam frowned and leaned forward. "But you said everybody had one."

Anathema looked as if she might be a bit worried or suspicious, but it went away and she shrugged. "I don't know, hon. It's an art, not an exact science. Sometimes things don't work properly." 

Adam thought about it and then decided that that made sense. If it wasn't taught in school, then there must not be any official rules for it or anything. "Oh well. What else don't they teach us at school?"

This launched Anathema on a tirade of things Adam could barely keep up with. Things about baby seals and rain forests and hamburgers and genetics in food and global warming (which Adam had heard about on the television and his dad had said it was a load of crap and his mom had told his dad to stop being stupid) and whales and then he heard her say something about nuclear power stations, which he knew things about. From what he understood, Anathema did not like them. 

"Nuclear power stations are rubbish!" He declared, and they were.

Anathema nodded and pointed at him. "Yes! They are!"

"We went to one on a school trip once." Adam said. "Nothing was bubbling and there wasn't green smoke anywhere and no one was in those space suits and it was so boring." All it had been was a big building with big things inside and loads of buttons. 

Anathema tilted her head and a fond type of expression crept up on her. "Well, yes. We need to get rid of them."

"That's what they get for not bubbling." Adam said smugly. 

Anathema looked like she wanted to talk more, but she seemed to notice the clock for the first time. "Adam, I have to get back to work now. But..." She stood up and searched around the kitchen. "If you're interested in any of this, I've got some old magazines riiight...here." She opened up a cabinet and pulled out a stack of magazines. "You don't have to read them."

Adam walked over and took one from the pile. It was called _New Aquarian _and it had articles about Tibetans and Atlantis and other such things. He smiled and took the whole stack from her, eager to learn about the things Anathema seemed so passionate about. "It looks wicked." He said. They exchanged goodbye's and "come again soon"'s and then Adam was off. He knew he'd be in trouble with his mother for being late to lunch, but he could always explain and then she wouldn't be very mad. 

Anathema went about the rest of her day as usual, doing calculations and going out with her pendulum to try to find her median zone. She was not aware that the very beasts she was looking for had been in her cottage just then. She also didn't know, that as a young boy pored over her _New Aquarian _magazines, that she had influenced the direction of the end times. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episode 3 is gonna take us longer than 1 and you remember how long that dragged on for
> 
> Antoni would figure out Shadwell is scamming him if he listened to anything the man said and Azaera, well. His one brain cell isn't worried about these things


	17. bandstand; one day until the end of the world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't believe I could fit the plot of episode 3 into only 2 chapters, I didn't realize just how much I could cut

Every step Antoni took echoed off the empty, wide-walled halls of Heaven, and he cringed each time a step sounded particularly louder than the rest. He came here to make a good impression and hopefully sway the authorities to his cause, and that started with not making such a racket as he entered. He had even dug out his best pale gray suit from the back of his closet and put his hair into a ponytail for the occasion. They didn't like him with such long hair, but he couldn't just cut it on such short notice. Or could he have? It wouldn't have been impossible for him to have just given it a trim before he came up, right? Antoni inhaled quietly through his nose and exhaled out his mouth. There wasn't a point to worrying about those trivial things now. He looked as nice as he could, and he even had a lovely speech memorized. It was moving, powerful, and funny at just the right moments. Antoni allowed himself a small smile as he thought about it. There was no way anything could go wrong, considering just how prepared he was. 

Gabriel stood by a large window, overlooking famous landmarks. Uriel, Michael, and Sandalphon were spread out on either side of him. All eyes were trained on Antoni, and he could feel them picking out every hair out of place, ever wrinkle in his suit, every speck of dust that landed on his shoes. Antoni took his place in front of them and clasped his hands behind his back. He managed a nervous smile, quickly reviewing everything he wanted to say, every gesture and facial expression he would make. 

"So, Raphael the Second." Gabriel smiled that smile of his and clapped his hands together, making Antoni jump. "We got your message. You've got something big. Lay it on us." He spread his arms and grinned, the other archangels maintaining their looks of disappointment. 

"Uh..." Antoni dug his nails into his palms, laughing nervously. His mouth went dry and he forgot everything he'd wanted to say. He scrambled for words, but they slipped away like sand through his fingers. "What was that?". Alarms were going off in his mind, alarms that meant he was doing everything _wrong _and he needed to get it together _now_.

"What's happening?" Gabriel's smile left his eyes and tilted his head forwards as if to say "you are already letting us down". 

Antoni swallowed and dug his nails in further. "Well, you see." He started, desperately searching for an ounce of control. "It's the Antichrist, see."

Those few words changed the atmosphere of the encounter. "Well?" Uriel had taken a step forward and raised her eyebrows. They were all listening now, all eyes and ears trained on Antoni and he felt as if his heart might explode inside of him. 

"Yes, well. About him." Antoni gripped his hand harder, hoping the sharp pain might ground him. "I've been thinking, and, well, it's not exactly impossible, considering everything, you know. That the...the other side might have, eh...lost him." He added a short chuckle in a frantic bid to seem casual. He knew he didn't. He was stammering like anything and sweating buckets, but it doesn't hurt to try and regain a small bit of control. 

Michael pursed her lips. "The...other side?" She asked.

Antoni wanted to scream. What other "other side" was there? Acting like she had no idea what he meant, he didn't know what she was playing at. "You know, um." He pointed downwards. "Hell and such." As if there was a new side, a third one he'd not been clued in on. 

"What do you mean, lost him?" Gabriel furrowed his brow, still smiling. "He's the son of the U.S ambassador, under constant observation."

"The other side are currently transporting him to the fields of Megiddo." Michael nodded to the window, as if you could see it from there. You probably could. "Apparently that's the traditional starting point."

Gabriel nodded and shrugged. "Middle Eastern unrest. Everything else goes from there. Four horsemen ride out. Last great battle between Heaven and Hell."

Antoni nodded and forced himself to stand steady where he was. Everything in him wanted to run or cry or both. He felt like a mouse in a very small cage. "Of course, yes, of course. It's just, well. It is possible that the demon Azaera, really tricky that one, always...makes me keep an eye out for him. That's for sure." He grinned, but immediately stifled it once he met the gazes of the archangels again. "But it's possible that the thing with the American ambassador's son, well. It could have been, uh. A trick. So to speak." He nodded with tightly sealed lips.

"A trick." Sandalphon said, disbelieving. 

"Yes, yes." Antoni nodded quickly. His mouth felt too dry and he felt he was very near hyperventilating even though he'd not moved an inch since he got here. "And...and the actual Antichrist might be, eh. Somewhere else." 

Gabriel set his shoulders, showing off his large stature. "Where?" He very nearly whispered, but the syllable rung through Antoni's ears.

Antoni thought for a second. Should he tell them where the Antichrist was? On one hand, it might win him some favor and credibility if he could back this all up. On the other, his motives for hunting down the Antichrist before anything had been approved would definitely be questioned and he didn't have an explanation planned for that. Best to wait until they want to look for him to reveal his location, pretending to have found him. Yes, that's what he'd do. "I'm not quite sure." Antoni said. "I mean, I...I could find out! I have my agents, a very dedicated team of humans, they could investigate the possibility. I mean, of course, hypothetically, if the American ambassador's son isn't actually the Antichrist, you know." 

Uriel slowly shook her head. "It wouldn't change anything, Raphael the Second." Her voice was smooth, yet cold as ice. 

"There was war in Heaven, long before Earth was created, although you'd hardly know." Gabriel's voice was tinted with venom. "Azaera and all them were cast out, but nothing was really settled."

Antoni's head was spinning. He felt like the air in the room had gone. Gabriel always brought up how he didn't fight in the Great War, as if Antoni was meant to remember that. "No, yes, of course." He stammered. "I suppose not. But there doesn't really have to be _another _war, right? I mean, we could always just, uh, settle things in a different way, couldn't we?

Gabriel smiled coldly. "As much as we've all enjoyed your...hypotheticals, you aren't getting out of war this easily." He laughed loudly and clapped a hand on Antoni's shoulder. "Now, we've all got business to get back to. Earth isn't just going to end itself, you know." 

Antoni nodded and ignored the dull ache in his shoulder. "Yes, right. Sorry." He cast his head down as the archangels left without a goodbye, staring pointedly at his shoes and trying not to let tears fall. Not now, maybe later. He dug his nails in further, using the pain to take some of the edge off. Of course it hadn't worked, of course. Why should he have even assumed they'd listen to him? The archangels had hated him, long before he got in trouble with them in the 19th century. No reason at all he should've considered being listened to, and now he'd wasted their time, and wasted his own time, and made them even more suspicious of him. 

He dropped his posture once he reached the elevator back down to Earth. He let his arms swing forward and leaned against the glass wall. He used to fear falling in the contraption, but he didn't really care now. Antoni released a heavy, shaking breath, and wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. Only, when he moved his hands away, there was a red smear on the left leg. Curious, he raised his hands to eye-level and raised his eyebrows at his discovery. His left palm was bleeding and the nails on his right hand had blood underneath. He must've broken skin. For a second, he considered healing it, but decided against it. Antoni had never been very good at healing, despite the name Raphael. And the pain did take a bit of the edge off. He lowered his hands back to his side and resolved to miracle away any scars, as usual. 

~*~

Once Antoni got on the bus, he made a beeline for the bathroom. He could feel eyes on him, watching him, judging him, and he needed it to stop. He also needed to make a private call. When the door was locked and he'd made sure that he wouldn't be heard, he dug his phone out of his pocket and dialed Shadwell's number. If Heaven didn't want to do anything about the Antichrist, he'd make sure someone at least did _something_. God, he couldn't just sit and do nothing as the world fell to pieces. Antoni's hands shook so badly he could barely hold the phone, but he glared at it and told it not to fall, so he sat on the toilet and listened to it ring. 

He'd almost wondered if nobody was home when the flat's phone was answered. "Hello." Floated a woman's voice. Antoni smiled at the sound. Madame Tracey usually picked up the phone when he called about payments and such, and from what he could gather she was a very pleasant person. 

"Just me, Madame." Antoni said. "I'm looking for Sergeant Shadwell, if you don't mind?" 

"Oh, if it isn't Tony!" Madame Tracey exclaimed. She was one of two people who ever would call him that. "I'll go see if he's available, he's made friends with a nice young man recently. We ought to talk some other time."

Antoni nodded, feeling very small. "Yes, some other time." He muttered vaguely. "Thank you." That one phrase sucked him back into the moment, where there would be no other time if he didn't think up some outrageously stupid plan that happened to work. No other time because every human would die a horrible, terrifying death and Heaven and Hell would be plunged into all-out warfare for God doesn't even know how long if he didn't do something. Somebody pounded on the bathroom door. "Occupied!" Antoni shouted hoarsely. The person left, or at least began to wait quietly. 

After a moment, Antoni heard Shadwell's familiar rough accent speaking with Madame Tracey, and sighed when the man just grunted into the receiver. The manners of people these days, he thought. "Sergeant, it's...it's you-know-who." He said quietly. 

"Who?" Shadwell's voice crackled through the phone. Antoni could almost smell the tobacco. 

"It's your sponsor, Antoni you dimwit." He hissed. He'd spoken to Shadwell enough times that he figured he might recognize him by voice, or that Madame Tracey had at least said it was him. "Look, I'm wondering if you've got any men free? I need some to poke around a little?"

"Poke, eh?" Shadwell chuckled. "Where exactly d'you want them poking?"

"Tadfield. Little town in Oxfordshire. You'll know it by the overwhelmingly wholesome energy." Antoni waved his hand and pulled his notes out of thin air. "There's a boy there, I need him under observation. I can give you his address, point is I want to know where he is, what he's doing, twenty-four-seven."

"I'll, eh. I'll put my best men on it." Shadwell said, with hesitation. If Antoni particularly cared, he would've found that suspicious, but considering circumstances, he had bigger problems than this man's secrets. 

"Thank you, thanks." Antoni said. "Just, just...just don't hurt him, ok?" The words come out of him like a dam opened, but once they came flooding out he couldn't stop it if he tried. "I want him safe, alright? Make sure nothing happens to him." And that was what it came down to, really. Antoni didn't want the world to end. He wanted it to keep turning so he could witness humans make more incredible achievements, keep frequenting his small coffee shops, keep scaring customers away from his greenhouse with odd and embarrassing music, keep living on this wonderful planet. But the Antichrist was an eleven-year-old boy. Surely, there must be something that could be done, something that could be said. It didn't have to end with bloodshed, it never did. That's why he opted out of the first Great War, because he wanted to keep creating stars and because couldn't it all be solved without any killing? And now another Great War was quickly approaching, and he knew he wouldn't get out of this one so easily. Nowhere to hide, nowadays. 

"Yeah, yeah, o'course." Shadwell grunted. "Anyway, I'll stop by the greenhouse 'round next week for the annual dues, aye? And these expenses for watching the wee lad."

Antoni nodded slowly, fighting the twisting coil of nausea in his gut. Why was everyone bringing up time? Why was everyone reminding him what little of it he had left? "Yeah, sure, whatever." He breathed. "Remember, bunch of your men to Tadfield, keep them there until I say otherwise. The kid's name is Adam Young, and he lives at..." He stole a glance at his notes. "Four Hogback Lane, Tadfield. You've got that down?"

Shadwell repeated the information, followed by scritching noises that Antoni could assume was him writing it down. "Absolutely, Mr. Fell. Tadfield it is." 

"Wonderful, thanks. Let me know what you're all set up. Ciao now." If Antoni hadn't hung up at that moment, he might've caught Shadwell's muttering about how he was a marijuana-imbibed devil. But even if he did hear, he wouldn't have cared. He ran his fingers through his hair and tried to collect himself. The Antichrist was going to be put under surveillance. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths, stamping down the nausea. He'd be alerted if anything happened. He balled his hands into fists, feeling the sting as he pulled his hair and felt the urge to just tear it all out so he could get _something_, some feeling other than this...this horribleness, this dread, this feeling that nothing he was doing mattered at all and that he was just doomed to failure no matter what and-

Antoni scrambled to the toilet and threw up. 

~*~

Azaera couldn't keep himself from pacing. There was too much nervous energy with nowhere to put it all. He'd practically worn a hole into his carpet and his nails were bitten to the quick. He'd forget about that and go to bite his nails again, which would just make them bleed more. He'd sit. Get back up, make another circuit. Put a kettle on the stove and dump the water into the sink just as quickly. Take out an apple to eat and leave it on the table after just one bite. Flip through his books for the fifth time today. Azaera knew there was nothing helpful in them, he nearly had them memorized by now. But it was so much better than doing nothing, because doing nothing was passivity and he was most definitely not passive, it was just that he didn't know what to do. He let out a tired sigh and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. He didn't know what to do. Not for the first time, he wondered what Antoni must be doing. He hadn't heard from him in almost a day now, which was odd. Of course, he respected when Antoni wanted a little distance, since 6,000 years is a very long time, but in such a high-stress situation? Azaera wasn't sure how good it was for Antoni to be by himself. 

Or maybe it was for the better. Azaera was, for lack of a better word, often a hindrance on any progress the angel might try to make. Antoni was smart and confident in himself and bold and strong-willed enough to get the results he wanted. Azaera was very much not. He felt, for lack of a better word, useless. At least right now, at least in this scenario. When, for all his books and knowledge, nothing he knows how to do is of any use whatsoever. He glanced at his rotary, which he hadn't updated from since they were invented. He wanted to call Antoni. But he would just be a nuisance, wouldn't he? Azaera wouldn't want to interrupt anything Antoni was doing, especially if it was important. He climbed up to his bus, flipped the sign to closed. Turned the radio on, switched channels before turning it off. Flipped through any occult type books he had up top. Climbed back down. He sat heavily in his armchair and dialed Antoni's number, not even having to look at the numbers.

"Hello?" Antoni sounded as if he'd just woken up. Azaera tried not to read into it.

"Hello, dearest!" Azaera stomped down his anxieties, and even smiled for effect. "I was thinking, we ought to go somewhere, have a talk about things."

"What's so wrong with talking like this?" Antoni asked. "I can hear fine."

"I know, love, I just wanted to talk in person." Azaera said. "Third alternative rendezvous? That's the coffee shop by the train station, isn't it?" Sometime during the 1800s, Antoni had gone on a security kick, making sure certain things were in code and that they could never be interpreted as being together when seen together. Azaera went along with it, not quite understanding, but there was no way he would be able to remember everything.

Antoni sighed and Azaera could practically see him rolling his eyes. "That's the bandstand." He snapped. "Right, whatever. I'll be there in about half an hour." And then he hung up. 

Azaera held the receiver for a moment longer before putting it back into place. Something was wrong, he could tell. Antoni was...stressed, at the very least. He couldn't tell the damage from a telephone conversation, which meant it was good to meet up. Azaera got up and stretched, cringing as his joints crackled. After they talked about what was bothering Antoni, Azaera thought they might go out to a nice lunch. He smiled and climbed back up into his bus. Yes, that sounded quite pleasant. What a nice little surprise, to get his partner's mind off whatever was troubling him.

~*~

It was nearly a half hour past when Antoni should've shown up when he jogged up the path to the bandstand, looking a mess. His ponytail was half fallen out, he looked exhausted, and he wore a rumpled gray suit that Azaera hadn't seen since at least 1983. Azaera waved cheerily to him from from the railing, and nearly frowned when it wasn't returned, or even acknowledged. His suspicions were confirmed; he had right to be worried for Antoni. 

"Hello darling." Azaera smiled when Antoni stepped onto the bandstand. He turned around to lean against the railing and watch his angel pace around.

Antoni nodded stiffly and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Hey." He said dryly. "What did you want?"

This was all...new. Antoni never quite got like this, but Azaera supposes he ought to make exceptions for the end of the world. Poor dear must be stressed like nothing else. "Not a lot." Azaera pushed himself off the railing and smiled, trying for a cheerful look. One of them had to act it. "Just wondering if you'd figured out the Antichrist's coordinates by now?" 

Azaera had wanted to go for a joking, light tone but Antoni recoiled as if he'd been slapped. He spun his ring around his finger and pushed a laugh out of his mouth. "What...what's with that?" He stammered. "No, of course not, why would I know anything about the Antichrist, one eleven-year-old British kid in a million. How would I know anything." 

"I was teasing, love." Azaera frowned. "You know I can't figure anything out either."

Antoni hefted a great sigh and looked through Azaera to the gathering gray clouds. "Thought you'd already figured out how to stop this." He nearly spat it, nose crinkling up just so. 

"What on this Earth do you mean by that?" Azaera pushed his glasses up and took a step forward to his partner. "You know I couldn't figure my way out of a paper bag with a map."

"You know. Just finding this little boy and shooting him fucking dead or whatever." Antoni paced a tight circled, keeping his eyes locked on Azaera. Those golden eyes were alight with a spark that the demon couldn't quite place. "That's what you said."

Azaera flushed and felt a small fire of indignation flare up in his chest. It had only been a suggestion. It wasn't like he'd _wanted _to kill anybody, he hardly ever did. Surely Antoni had to know he wasn't the type to. By now, surely. "It was a suggestion." He tempered his voice to stay calm, not let his annoyance show. "You know I wouldn't have anyway, even if we did go through with it." 

Antoni stared at him a moment before going still and his shoulders sagged, although with relief or exhaustion, Azaera couldn't tell. "What can we do." He said weakly. "It's the Great Plan and all, I mean....what can we do." It wasn't a question, it was a defeated statement. 

"Well, we can do _something_." Azaera protested. These were not things the Antoni he was used to would say. "For one, I do recall some edits I proposed to the Great Plan quite a while back and I don't think it's too late for revision." He chuckled, expecting a similar reaction from Antoni. There was none. 

"You're ridiculous." Antoni muttered. "First child murder, now suggesting She change Her plans to your liking....you're fucking insane!" He barked out a sharp laugh and went back to his tight circle, pointing accusingly at Azaera. "You're fucking delusional if you think any of that is reasonable. For _one_, I wouldn't tell you the Antichrist's information if I did find it just because of this. Trying to kill a _boy_. I can't...I can't..." He trailed off, waving his hands as if to articulate just what it was he couldn't do.

Azaera took a deep breath and took the blows. Now was not the time to get upset, not when Antoni was like this. "Love, this is just your anxiety acting up." He said softly. "Try to breathe, honey, just breathe."

"I don't have anxiety." Antoni sharply glanced up at Azaera. "I don't."

"Well you must, because you told me."

"I didn't tell you shit about it because I don't have anxiety!" Antoni was shouting now. This would've been the type of scene to attract passerby's attention if anyone had been around.

Azaera furrowed his brow. "You must've, or else how would I know?" Of course he must have. Of course, it's reasonable to forget things after 6,000 years of memories, but he knew it so deep down that there wasn't any other explanation for it.

"I don't fucking have anxiety, I'm telling you now!" Antoni threw his arms up, his eyes fully burning. "You think you know everything, that's your problem. You think you know fucking everything." He clenched his fists tightly by his side and stood, almost statue still. "You know more about my mental health than I do, you know better than I do in that we ought to murder a child, you apparently know more than God Herself!" 

"That is how I Fell." Azaera smiled weakly, hoping for some type of reaction. Antoni stood still, eyes blazing with panic and rage. "Darling, I think....would you like time to yourself? I was going to ask you to lunch but if you'd rather not...." Azaera spread his arms out, leaving it open-ended. He wasn't sure what to think. On one hand, Antoni was clearly not in a right state of mind. On the other, he was angrier than Azaera had seem him before. It had never come down to insults like this before. 

Antoni rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Where would you even go?" He shrugged, but his fires dimmed a little. "I mean...there's just here."

"It's not just here." Azaera spoke softly, taking a step towards Antoni. "There's lots of planets and stars and galaxies...even if this one ends, we could find a nice place together. You and me, love, like always." He smiled, genuinely this time, and combed his fingers through his hair. If he could put Antoni's mind at ease for just a moment, he could forgive everything said to him. 

Antoni went loose again and took a step backwards. "You and me..." He muttered, almost inaudibly. Another step back and he was shaking his head and Azaera's heart sank. "No, no, I can't. Not when you....you and your....your fucking ego! You and thinking you know everything and...and that you're so smart just because you hoard stupid books! And...and, Christ, you're a _demon_ and you've always tried to tempt me into shit haven't you?" He looked Azaera dead on, but there was no fire left in his eyes, not even a spark of life. They were as dull and cold as a lump of gold. "This is ridiculous, you're...you're ridiculous." 

Without the fire behind Antoni's words, it was much more difficult to pretend to not be effected. Of course the words stung, they would hurt coming from anyone from the Dark Lord Satan to a random stranger on the street. But he looked...serious. Collected. Less hysterical than he was when he was yelling, which only lead Azaera to question whether he'd been in a bad mental spot at all. Maybe he'd meant everything he said, and maybe he said it all with a clear head. "I'd never tempt you to anything." He said around a lump in his throat. "I never would and never have forced you into anything, love." 

A beat of silence. Azaera watched dimly as Antoni fiddled around with his ring, an endearing nervous tic of his. Much better than practically ripping his hair out. Antoni sighed and held his hand out. It took a moment for Azaera to process he was holding out his ring.

"Take it." Antoni said, almost lifelessly.

"Tony..." Azaera pleaded, voice shaking. He clutched at the ends of his sleeves as if they were lifelines. 

Antoni stepped forward, almost aggressively, and held the ring out. "Take it." Just as cold. Azaera held out a trembling hand and Antoni dropped the ring into his palm.

"Right. I'm leaving." Antoni mumbled. "Have a good one." He strode past Azaera and down the road he'd come from, not looking back. 

Azaera couldn't tear his eyes away from the ring in his palm. It was small, thin and made of silver, with a green emerald inlaid in it. Azaera had bought it after Antoni had proposed, way back in the early 1000s. He had one just like it, but it was made of gold. Their first set of wedding rings. There were more, of course, from their various other weddings across the years, but those were kept safe at their respective homes. And neither of them had gotten rid of them or taken it off _like this _in those thousand years they'd been together. Azaera dropped to his knees, feeling weak and shaky all over. He felt as if the mild day had turned bitterly freezing. He felt...alone. Truly alone for the first time in a thousand years. Even when they were apart for long stretches of time, even when they fought, they had their wedding rings connecting them to each other and now... Azaera choked out a quiet sob and felt tears stream down his face. All those years, even before they were officially together, he'd never wanted to lose Antoni, he'd been afraid of it, afraid of being by himself for so many years and decades and centuries. 

And now the world was ending and he was so, completely, alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When your husband symbolically divorces you just a few days from your 1000th anniversary and ur wondering if the world hasn't started ending already aha 
> 
> As always, if you enjoy this so far please leave a kudos or comment! I might try to talk to you if you do comment, but I just have so many pent up thoughts about this fic so ignore me if you want

**Author's Note:**

> This is stupid


End file.
